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is  Country  Cousin 


BY  CHARLOTTE  M.  STANLEY, 


Author  of  “Her  Second  Choice,”  etc.,  etc. 


^ m 


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ABANDON  PHYSIC! 


^ INTESTINAL  TORPOR  ANO  KINDRED  EVILS 


WITHOUT  OUUO^. 


The  sufferer  from  Constipation  and  Piles  should  test  the  GLUTEN  SUP- 
POSITORIES which  cure  most  cases  by  increasing  the  nutrition  of  the 
PARTS,  thus  inducing  desire  and  strengthening  the  power  of  expulsion. 

THU  i:vn>i:r\€u. 

Dr.  a.  W.  Thompson,  Northampton,  Mass.,  saj^s:  *‘I  have  tested  the  Gluten 
Suppositories,  and  consider  them  valuable,  as,  indeed,  I expected  from  the  ex- 
cellence of  their  theory.” 

Dr.  Wm.  Tod  Helmuth  declares  the  Gluten  Suppositories  to  be  “the  best 
remedy  for  constipation  which  T have  ever  prescribed.” 

“As  Sancho  Panza  said  of  sleep,  so  say  1 of  your  Gluten  Suppositories: 
God  bless  the  man  who  invented  them!”— E.  L.  Ripley,  Burlington,  Vt. 

“I  have  Lieen  a constipared  dyspeptic  for  many  years,  and  the  effect  has 
been  to  reduce  me  in  flesh,  and  to  render  me  liable  to  no  little  nerve  prostration 
and  sleeplessness,  especially  after  preaching  or  any  special  mental  effort.  The 
use  of  Gluten  Suppositories,  made  by  the  Health  Food  Co.,  61  Fifth  Avenue. 
New  York,  has  relieved  the  constipated  habit,  and  their  Gluten  and  Brain  Food 
have  secured  for  me  new  powers  of  digestion,  and  the  ability  to  sleep  soundly 
and  think  clearly.  I believe  their  food-remedies  to  be  worthy  of  the  high  praise 
which  they  are  receiving  on  all  sides.”— Rev.  John  H.  Paton.  Mich. 

“ I cannot  speak  too  liighly  of  the  Health  Food  Company’s  Gluten  Suppos- 
itories, as  they  have  been  a perfect  God-send  to  me.  I believe  them  superior  to 
anything  ever  devised  for  the  relief  of  constipation  and  hemorrhoids.  I have 
suffered  from  these  evils  more  than  twenty  years,  and  have  at  last  found  sub- 
stantial relief  through  the  use  of  the  Gluten  Suppositories.” — Cyrus  Bradbuiiy, 
Hopedale,  Mass. 

“ I prescribe  the  Gluten  Suppositories  almost  daily  in  my  practice,  and  api 
often  astonished  at  the  permanent  I’esults  obtained.” -J.  Montfoht  Schley, 
31.  D.,  Professor  Physical  Diagnosis  Woman’s  3Iedical  College.  New  York  City. 

“ I have  been  using  them  with  excellent  results.” — F.  H.  Williams,  M.  D. 
Trenton,  N.  J. 

“ Have  used  a half  dozen,  and  never  had  anything  give  me  so  much 
faction.”— A.  P.  Charlton,  M.  D..  Jenneville,  Pa. 

“ I have  used  your  Gluten  Suppositories  in  my  family  with  great 
tion.” — S.  B.  Cowles,  President  Pacific  Bank,  Clarks,  Nebraska. 

“ I have  had  some  very  satisfactory  experience  in  the  treatment 
pation  with  your  Wheat  Giluten  Suppositories.” — Charles  W.  Benedi 
Findlay,  Ohio. 

HUAl/ni 


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HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN 

OR, 

MERCY  CRAVEN’S  LOVERS. 


A STORY  OF  HEARTS  AND  HOMES. 


BY 

CHARLOTTE  M.  STANLEY. 


NEW  YORK: 

GEOKGE  MUNRO,  PUBLISHER, 

17  TO  27  Vandewater  Street. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1885,  by 
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m the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  Washington,  D.  C. 


hi  ^9 A 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

“ And  so  you’re  going  to  have  Mercy  Craven  to  come 
and  live  with  you?  Well,  to  be  sure!  When  Steve  told 
me  so  last  night,  I never  was  more  astonished!  ‘ What 
for?’  I asked  Steve.  ‘ What  under  the  sun  does  a young 
wife  like  Polly,  with  only  two  little  ones,  and  plenty  of 
servants  to  help  her,  want  with  a girl  like  Mercy  Craven, 
who’ll  be  as  much  the  mistress  as  herself?’  But  Steve 
could  tell  me  nothing;  his  mind  is  too  full  of  pretty  Ada, 
there  ” — with  a glance  at  the  further  end  of  the  handsome 
room,  where  her  youngest  son  stood  leaning  over  a lovely 
girl,  who  was  seated  at  a piano — not  playing  it,  but  draw- 
ing her  fingers  idly  over  the  ke}^s — “ Steve  sees  and  hears 
little  else  than  Ada,  when  Ada  is  anywhere  near.  So  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  come  and  have  a talk  with  you  about 
it.  1 know  more  about  the  Cravens  than  yoic  do,  my 
dear;  and,  if  the  thing  isn’t  settled  and  done,  take  a little 
time  to  consider  and  think  before  you  do  what  we  may  all 
be  sorry  for.” 

The  speaker  was  Mrs.  Eaymond — “ Pretty  Widow  Ray- 
mond ” folks  had  called  her  something  over  twenty  years 
ago,  which  was  a few  months  before  the  daughter  whom 
she  now  addressed,  and  the  son,  who  was  busy  playing  at 
love  beside  the  piano  yonder,  made  their  joint  appearance 
in  what  seemed  to  their  young  mother  a weary,  weary 
world;  for  she  had  had  two  fine,  bouncing  boys  already,  of 

'701490 


6 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


the  respective  ages  of  five  and  seven,  and  therefore,  when 
these  twins  arrived  within  some  seven  months  of  the  hus- 
band and  father^s  sudden  death,  it  really  did  seem  to  the 
poor  little  sorrowful  woman  that  the  measure  of  her  afflic- 
tion was  both  piled  up  very  high,  and  pressed  down  very, 
very  hard  indeed.  They  were  two  such  bewildering  little 
circumstances,  and  it  was  so  hard  for  any  one  to  quite  de- 
cide how  they  were  to  be  properly  provided  for;  for  Tom 
Eaymond,  senior,  while  making  sufficient,  and  even  hand- 
some, provision  for  his  wife  and  two  sons,  had  neither 
known  nor  thought  of,  nor  in  any  way  prepared  for  any 
further  responsibilities;  so  that,  when  these  posthumous 
babies  came  upon  the  scene,  they  found  their  two  elder 
brothers  in  full  and  firm  possession  of  whatever  the  father 
had  had  to  leave,  and  themselves  not  only  fatherless  but 
penniless — not  that  there  was  any  absolute  danger  of  their 
ever  coming  to  want — their  mother  was  too  well  provided 
for,  and  too  loving  and  dutiful  to  them  to  permit  that, 
unless— unless — (Widow  Raymond  was  only  twenty-five, 
and  very  pretty)  unless  she  should  see  fit  to  marry  a sec- 
ond time,  in  which  case  the  poor  little  twins,  in  addition  _ 
to  being  penniless,  would  pass  from  the  secure  and  natural 
condition  of  safe  dependence  on  a mother^s  love  to  the 
somewhat  dubious,  and  often  painful,  state  of  reliance  on 
the  cold  kindliness  of  a step-father. 

This  state  of  things  came  ^f  the  peculiar  conditions  of 
Mr.  Raymond's  will,  made  only  a few  months  'before  his 
death,  but  whether  with  any  prescience  of  that  death 
— which  was  sudden  and  accidental  — upon  his  mind, 
who  shall  tell?  Probably,  however,  as  he  was  a careful 
and  cautious  man,  who  had  worked  hard  for  his  money, 
and  was  no  longer  young,  no  further  motive  than  a right 
solicitude  for  the  welfare  of  the  dear  ones  dependent  on  him 
was  needed  to  account  for  that  wise  action  which  the 
quickly  following  calamity  of  his  death  made  appear  so 
providential  and  well-timed;  be  that  as  it  may,  however^ 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIK.  7 

the  will  was  made,  and  the  following  were  its  principal 
conditions: 

His  business  (he  had  owned  a flourishing  dry-goods  store 
in  a good  neighborhood)  was  to  be  carried  on  by  persons, 
and  under  the  supervision  of  trustees,  whom  he  himself 
appointed,  in  trust  for  his  two  sons,  until  they  should 
come  of  age  and  be  able  to  take  charge  of  it  themselves, 
when  it  was  to  become  wholly  theirs,  either  upon  the  terms 
of  a joint  partnership,  or  by  such  just  and  equitable  divi- 
sion as  they  might  mutually  agree  upon.  Between  these 
two  boys  he  also  equally  divided  all  personal  property  and 
moneys  belonging  to  him  at  the  time  of  his  death,  with  the 
exception  of  the  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars,  which  he 
directed  should  be  paid  to  his  widow.  Three  thousand 
dollars  per  year  was  also  to  come  to  her  out  of  the  estate, 
so  long  as  she  remained  a widow,  for  her  own  and  her  two 
children’s  maintenance  until  the  latter  were  of  age,  after 
which  the  sum  of  two  thousand  dollars  per  annum  was  to 
be  paid  her  for  her  own  exclusive  use,  always  upon  that 
same  condition  of  her  continued  widowhood,  separate  and 
liberal  provision  being  made  for  the  two  children’s  educa- 
tion; but  if,  on  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Raymond  should 
think  proper  to  marry  a second  time,  she,  by  such  mar- 
riage, forfeited  this  provision,  as  well  as  the  control  and 
custody  of  her  two  sons,  the  testator  explaining  that,  while 
he  had  no  wish  to  unduly,  influence  the  actions  of  his 
widoAv,  he  did  desire  to  secure  the  mother  entirely  to  her 
sons;  and,  furthermore,  had  no  intention  of  either  dower- 
ing another  man’s  wife,  or  permitting  his  children  to  pass 
into  a second  husband’s  custody.  Pretty  Mrs.  Raymond, 
when  she  heard  the  will  read,  smiled  faintly  amid  her 
tears,  more  pleased  than  vexed  at  “ poor,  dear  Tom’s  fool- 
ish, jealous  notions.” 

‘‘  As  if  I should  ever  think  of  such  a thing  as  a second 
marriage!”  she  sighed.  Such  a husband  as  my  poor 
Tom  was  doesn’t  fall  to  a woman’s  lot  twice  in  a life-time. 


8 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIN. 


I fancy.  No.  no,  he  needn^t  have  been  afraid;  I sha’n^t 
replace  him.  The  rest  of  my  life  will  be  devoted  to  the 
care  of  his  little  ones — not  only  for  the  two  boys  he  was  so 
fond  and  proud  of,  and  has  done  so  well  for,  but  the  poor 
babe  that  will  never  know  a father’s  care,  to  whom  1 must 
be  father  and  mother  both,  alas!”  and  at  that  j^athetic 
thought  her  faint  smile  died,  and  tears  fell  fast  and  sor- 
rowfully. 

She  was  not  very  much  concerned,  at  first,  as  to  the  fut- 
ure prospects  of  the  expected  infant.  “ Dear  Tom  ” had 
been  so  generous  to  her  that  she  could  easily  save  enough 
money,  by  the  time  the  child  should  be  of  age,  to  portion 
it  almost  as  well  as  its  two  brothers;  but  when  the  longed- 
for  and  yet  dreaded  hour  arrived,  and  a yair  of  helpless 
babies  lay  upon  her  widowed  bosom,  the  great,  maternal 
love  aroused  a thousand  womanly  anxieties,  and  she  began 
to  doubt  and  question,  timidly,  how  should  she  ever  pro- 
vide for  the  two?  The  sum  which  she  might  save  out  of 
her  allowance  from  the  estate  would  seem  a pitiful  portion 
enough,  compared  to  that  of  her  elder  boys,  when  it  should 
come  to  be  divided  between  two.  Well,  one  thing  at  least 
was  very  certain  now:  poor  Tom’s  wishes  about  her  per- 
petual widowhood  would  be  fulfilled.  Every  thought  must 
be  devoted  to  these  two  children — every  nerve  must  be 
strained  to  fill  their  father’s  place  to  them,  and  make 
amends  for  the  unintentional  wrong  done  by  the  will, 
which  was  made  before  they  came  into  existence. 

The  brave  little  woman  kept  her  resolution  well.  There 
came  a time,  when  the  twins  were  seven  years  old,  when 
she  felt  poor  dear  Tom’s  ” conditions  hard  and  selfish, 
since  they  deprived  her  of  the  companionship  of  a con- 
genial mind — the  consolation  of  a husband’s  love  and  care, 
offered  her  then  by  oiie  from  whom  she  would  have 
accepted  them,  had  anything  less  sacred  than  the  interests 
of  her  children  been  at  stake;  as  it  was,  she  did  not  hesi- 
tate for  an  instant. 


HIS  (X)UNTRY  COUSIN', 


0 


‘‘  So  long  as  my  cliildren  need  me,  I belong  to  them/’^ 
she  told  her  suitor.  “ If  I married  you  I should  come  to 
you  penniless  and  with  two  little  ones;  and  if  you  are  so 
generous,  or  think  so  much  of  me  that  you  would  under- 
take such  a responsibility  for  my  sake,  neither  you  nor  J, 
being  made  comparatively  poor  by  such  a marriage,  could 
make  amends  to  these  children  for  what  they  would  lose. 
I have  saved  and  laid  by  five  thousand  dollars  for  them  in 
these  seven  years — only  five  thousand  dollars.  I,  who 
have  hitherto  belonged  wholly  to  them  and  to  their 
father’s  memory.  Should  I be  able  to  do  even  half  so  well 
for  them  as  your  wife?  No.  And  I should  feel  that,  for 
my  present  happiness,  I had  jeopardized  their  future. 
Therefore  I say  no.  So  long  as  my  children  need  a moth-* 
er’s  service  I can  be  no  man’s  wife.” 

And  these  children  were  only  seven  years  old.  How 
many  weary  years  of  waiting  must  elapse  before  they  would 
cease  to  need  her!  The  man  who  loved  her  knew  her  to 
be  jealous  of  the  superior  wealth  of  her  elder  sons,  and 
ambitious  to  place  these  later  children  on  something  like 
an  equal  footing.  How  long  would  it  take  her  to  accom- 
plish that,  seeing  that,  in  seven  long  years  she  had  saved 
but  five  thousand  dollars?  She  was  a very  woman  who 
would  take  the  slow,  sure,  tedious  road  to  moderate  means 
— not  run  bold  risks  for  wealth;  and  he,  on  his  part,  had 
enough  for  all,  but  no  surplus  with  which  to  buy  these 
twins  immunity  from  possible  evils,  or  recompense  them 
for  probable  loss.  He  had  cared  enough  for  her  to  take 
her  and  her  children  penniless  and  serve  them  as  his  own; 
but  he  did  not  care  enough  to  do  what  was  much  harder — 
wait— wait  through  an  indefinite  time,  with  indefinite 
prospects  for  a barely  possible  good,  which,  after  all, 
might  never  come  to  reward  him,  and  through  this  weary, 
hopeless  waiting,  see  another  preferred — ay,  though  that 
other  was  only  her  own  helpless  child — preferred  before 
himselL  Better  have  done  with  hope  and  love  at 


10 


HIS  COUNTUY  COUSIN’. 


ouce,^^  he  tlionglifc,  “ and  reconcile  one’s  self  to  the  in- 
evitable;” and  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  he  took  this  sensi- 
ble and  truly  masculine  course  as  soon  as  might  be,  for 
within  two  years’  time  of  his  rejection  by  “ Pretty  Widow 
Kaymond  ” he  was  married. 

She  turned  a shade  paler  when  she  heard  of  it,  and,  in 
her  own  room  that  night  I think  she  shed  a few  quiet 
tears;  but  the  warm  lovelight  in  her  eyes,  as  she  looked 
down  upon  her  sleeping  babes,  soon  dried  the  teardrops. 

“ I have  done  my  duty  to  you,  darlings,”  she  whis- 
j)ered,  and  found  sweet  consolation  in  the  thought.  More- 
over, the  tender  little  woman  had  her  share  of  gentle, 
womanly  pride.  ‘‘  He  could  not  have  rightly  loved  me,” 
she  thought,  “ and  put  another  woman  in  the  place  he 
offered  me  so  very  soon;  it  was  not  me  he  wanted,  but  just 
a wife.  Ah,  well,  God  make  him  happy  with  the  one  he 
has  wedded.  I shall  not  waste  regrets  on  one  who  did  not 
love  me  well  enough  to  wait.  I have  my  children  still.” 

Ten  years  later  she  had  parted  with  one  of  these  idolized 
children — Mariana,  familiarly  called  Polly,  who  had  real- 
ized and  fulfilled  all  her  mother’s  most  ambitious  hopes 
for  her  by  a really  prosperous  and  desirable  marriage. 
Polly  became  Mrs.  Richard  Lester,  and  Richard  Lester 
was  considered  (matrimonially)  quite  a catch  by  all  the 
ladies  of  his  circle.  As  for  saucy,  merry,  light-hearted 
Polly  Raymond,  only  just  sixteen  years  old,  and  scarcely 
released  from  her  school-books  yet,  when  she  found  that 
the  big  fish  had  floundered  into  her  careless  net,  astonish- 
ment filled  her  mind  so  completely  as  to  leave  no  room, 
for  awhile,  for  any  other  sentiment  whatever. 

“ The  idea  of  Dick  Lester  ” — she  had  known  him  from 
her  birth,  Mr.  Lester,  senior,  being  one  of  the  executors 
of  the  famous  will  that  had  left  her  penniless — “ the  idea 
of  Dick  Lester  wanting  to  marry  me  she  would  exclaim 
to  marry  me,  you  know  ’’—with  a change  of  emphasis 
^h-ich  made  it  appeal"  that  she  would  have  thought  his 


ms  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


11 


wanting  to  adopt  her  or  beat  her  less  extraordinary — “ a 
giddy  little  thing  like  me! — and  he  twelve  years  my  senior, 
and  so  grave!  Little  mother  — they  always  patronized 
their  mother,  these  twins,  to  whom  she  had  devoted  her 
life,  and  she  liked  the  patronage — “ little  mother,  it  is  at 
once  the  most  surprising  and  most  ridiculous  thing  that  1 
ever  heard  of  !^^ 

It  flattered  her  girlish  vanity,  nevertheless;  nor  had  the 
seeds  of  ambition  which  the  mother  had  most  naturally 
and  innocently  implanted  in  her  young  mind  fallen  upon 
barren  ground.  When  Mrs.  Eaymond  pointed  out  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  match,  laughing  Miss  Polly  grew  grave 
enough  and  listened  attentively;  and  in  the  end — an  end 
only  six  months  distant — she  married  Eichard  Lester,  and 
had  been  his  happy  and  fortunate  wife  for  almost  four 
years  at  the  time  my  story  opens. 

Following  her  mother’s  example,  but  at  the  very  outset 
of  her  matrimonial  career,  she  had  presented  her  husband 
with  twins—with  all  reasonable  expedition — and  was  en- 
gaged in  dancing  one  of  them  to  Banbury  Cross  ” upon 
her  knee,  while  the  other  built  up  and  knocked  down  brick 
pyramids — of  wooden  bricks — around  her  feet,  the  while 
the  little  mother,  now  a cosy,  comfortable,  handsome 
matron  of  forty- five,  poured  mingled  mischief  and  wisdom 
into  her  willing  ears,  the  result  of  which  process,  as  well 
as  some  other  particulars  of  considerable  importance  to 
my  story,  I shall  reserve  for  another  chapter. 


OHAPTEE  II. 

FOREBODING  EVIL. 

The  thing  is  settled  and  done,”  sighed  Mrs.  Lester,  a 
little  discontentedly.  “ Aunt  Craven  came  to  town  a few 
weeks  ago  and  called  on  us,  and  1 was  civil  to  her,  of 
course;  but — well,  you  know,  mother,  I never  liked  her. 
Not  a word  about  Mercy’s  coming  does  she  say  to  me,  but 


12 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


goes  down  to  Eichard’s  office,  in  the  afternoon,  and  talks 
him  over;  and  he  promises  that  the  girl  shall  come  here, 
without  consulting  me,  and  come  she  must,  of  course,  on 
trial  at  any  rate  Still,  there  can^t  be  much  harm  done. 
1 never  saw  Mercy;  but  the  Cravens  are  decently  born  and 
bred  and  taught,  I suppose.  What  have  you  so  very  much 
against  them?^^ 

“Mrs.  Craven  is  an  artful  woman,^^  answered  Mrs. 
Eaymond,  earnestly,  “and  ‘artful  mother  will  rear  art- 
ful child.  ^ Of  course  she  appealed  to  Richard  rather  than 
to  you — that  was  always  Jane  Craven^s  way.  She  was  a 
beauty  ten  years  ago,  when  Mercy  and  you  were  children. 
She  had  great  blue  eyes  that  fairly  looked  men’s  hearts 
away,  and  turned  their  heads.  She  might  have  been  mar- 
ried a dozen  times  since  Craven  died — if  he  did  die — if 
she’d  chosen.  I can’t  see  why  she  chose  to  struggle  on  all 
alone,  and  so  poor,  with  that  child;  a second  husband 
would  have  helped  her  so  much!  Ah  ” — with  a keen  look 
at  Richard  Lester,  who  sat,  apparently  reading,  but  really 
listening,  in  his  easy-chair — “ no  doubt  she  had  sufficient 
faith  in  the  memory  of  her  old  attractions  to  feel  very  sure 
that  Dick  wouldn’t  say  her  nay.  You  admired  Jane 
Craven,  too,  when  you  were  quite  a boy,  Dick,  didn’t 
you?” 

Her  tone  was  one  of  good-natured  banter  merely;  but 
Mr.  Lester  answered  curtly,  and  with  a frown: 

“ I thought  her  handsome,  certainly — a youngster  of 
twenty  is  not  apt  to  be  critical  on  the  subject  of  female 
charms.  My  admiration  did  not  induce  me  to  marry  her, 
however,  though  she  was  a widow,  I suppose,  even  then; 
neither  did  it  influence  my  decision  the  other  day.  She 
tells  me  Mercy  is  pretty  and  talented,  and  is  buried,  as  one 
may  say,  in  that  out-of-the-way  country  village  in  Penn- 
sylvania. What  more  natural  than  that  she  should  wish 
to  come  here?  What  more  than  decent,  cousinly  kindness 
is  there  in  our  consenting  to  receive  her? — which  reminds 


HTS  COUNTUY  COUSIN*. 


13 


me/^  he  added,  in  a pleasanter  tone,  “ that,  as  she  is  to 
arrive  his  evening,  I intended  to  ask  Steve  if  he  could  spare 
a couple  of  hours  from  his  love-making  to  go  over  to  Jer- 
sey City  and  meet  her.^^ 

This  caused  quite  a general  outcry.  Mrs.  Eaymond  ex- 
claimed: 

“ What!  to-night?  1 had  no  idea  you  expected  her  so 
soon!’^ 

Stephen  Eaymond  grumbled,  and  his  pretty  sweetheart 
pouted  at  being  thus  disturbed  in  their  love-play,  and 
Mrs.  Lester,  hastily  putting  the  child  down  from  her  knee, 
turned  upon  her  husband  in  extreme  surprise. 

“ To-night,  Dick? — and  this  is  the  first  word  that  I have 
heard  about  it!  And  she  was  expected  to-morrow!  Real- 
ly — with  an  indignant  air~‘‘  your  manner  of  arranging 
Mrs.  Craven^s  affairs  without  consulting  me  is  very  ex- 
traordinary. Why  didnT  you  tell  us  sooner?  The  girTs 
bed  must  be  got  ready  at  once.  Have  you  had  a letter 
from  her?^^ 

“ From  her  mother,  my  dear.  It  came  only  about  an 
hour  ago,  and  really  1 forgot — 

But  Polly  was  holding  out  to  him  an  eager  little  hand. 

“ Where  is  it?  Show  me  the  letter,  Dick,^^  with  wifely 
confidence  in  his  producing  it. 

But  he  did  not.  Though  it  was  lying  safely  in  his 
breast  pocket  at  that  moment,  he  did  not.  But  he  looked 
into  his  wife’s  eager  face  instead  with  well-simulated  sur- 
prise. 

“You  want  to  see  Aunt  Craven’s  letter?  Dear  me,  I 
never  thought  of  bringing  it  to  you.  It  came  to  the  office. 
ITl  find  it  for  you  there,  if  I can,  to-morrow.  Will  that 
do?  It’s  only  to  say  that  Mercy  will  be  here  at  eight,  and 
to  ask  that  somebody  may  meet  her.  ” 

He  told  that  white  lie  glibly.  Not  that  he  was  other 
than  a truthful  and  honorable  man  with  a right  detesta- 
tion of  all  fibs  and  subterfuges,  but  be  knew  his  little  wife 


It 


ins  COUKTilY  COVSW. 


had  a taint  of  jealousy  in  her  bloody  and  he  could  not  let 
her  see  Jane  Craven^s  letter,  of  which  a part  ran  thus: 

I trust  to  you,  my  dear  old  friend  and  sweetheart,  to 
meet  my  girl  on  her  arrival.  By  doing  so  you  will  give 
her  an  opportunity  to  deliver  into  your  own  hands  the 
packet  of  old  letters  which  1 return  to  you  according  to 
my  promise.  Mercy  will  take  care,  in  any  case,  to  give 
them  to  you  unobserved.  They  were  precious  to  me  as 
souvenirs  of  what  I thought  was  a true  love,  but  I restore 
them  for  your  satisfaction  and  for  Mercy^s  sake.  Be  kind 
to  her,  and  thus  keep  your  word  to  me,  as  1 keep  mine  to 
you.  Faithfully  yours,  Jane  Ckayen.^^ 

He  hadn’t  any  clear  idea  of  what  these  letters  contained. 
They  had  been  written  ten'*  years  ago,  when  the  handsome 
widow,  Jane  Craven,  had  set  his  young  blood  afire,  and  a 
certain  tinge  of  mystery  which  clung  about  her  had  turned 
his  boyish  head.  But  he  felt  guiltily  conscious  that  he  had 
proposed  marriage  to  her  in  one  of  them.  Ay,  and  with 
all  a young  man’s  reckless  impetuosity,  eagerly  urged  his 
wishes,  too.  What  would  that  story  sound  like  now? 
How  would  Polly  feel  if  she  should  hear  of  it?  Why,  she 
rather  ruled  him  already  (this  might  be  acknowledged  in 
the  secret  depths  of  his  own  consciousness)!  Give  her  such 
a string  as  this  to  harp  upon,  and  farewell  domestic  peace. 
Besides,  the  absurdity  of  the  thing!  Jane  Craven  was 
almost  ten  years  his  senior.  Good  heavens!  Suppose  she 
had  married  him,  and  made  him  the  (secret)  laughing- 
stock of  all  his  acquaintances.  He  drew  his  breath 
sharply  with  a sense  of  relief  as  he  realized  what  an 
escape  it  was. 

‘‘  WTiy  didn’t  she  take  me?”  he  mused.  That  has 
been  a subject  of  wonder  as  well  as  thankfulness  to  me 
ever  since.  I was  a good  catch  even  then;  and  she,  so 
much  older  than  myself,  could  have  had  her  own  way  with 
me.  A worldly,  crafty  woman,  too,  as  I know  now — most 


\ 

\ 


ins  COUISITUY  COUSIN. 


15 


strange  that  she  should  have  let  such  a chance  escape  her. 
Was  she  not  really  free  to  take  it,  I wonder?  No  one  ever 
seemed  to  know  anything  of  when  or  where  Craven  died — 
perhaps  he  was  not  dead  at  all.  Well,  no  matter,  since 
she  let  me  go  free.  Once  let  me  get  those  confounded  let- 
ters out  of  her  hands,  and  all  is  well!^^ 

These  thoughts  had  been  passing  through  his  mind 
while  he  listened  idly  to  his  wife  and  her  mother  talking. 
They  gave  him  small  chance  for  quiet  musing  afterward. 

‘‘At  eight  o^clock!^^  cried  Mrs.  Lester.  “ Why,  good 
gracious,  it^s  seven  now,  and  Steve  will  surely  miss  her. 
Why  didn’t  you  speak  sooner?  You  are  so  thoughtless, 
iJick!  Steve  dear  — to  her  brother — “you  will  go, 
won't  you?  Whether  we  want  the  poor  girl  or  not,  we 
mustn’t  let  a poor  country  girl  arrive  in  New  York  alone 
at  night,  and  lose  her  way,  or  be  insulted  and  frightened, 
perhaps,  for  want  of  some  one  to  receive  her.  Ada,  there, 
isn't  jealous  of  any  number  of  country  cousins,  and  will 
spare  you  awhile  to  this  one,  I am  sure.^^ 

At  which  pretty  Ada  laughed  and  blushed,  and  said,  at 
first  playfully,  that  it  was  nothing  to  her  where  Stephen 
went,  and  his  engagements  did  not  concern  her,  and  then 
seriously,  that  she  wouldnT  for  the  world  have  this  poor 
girl  neglected,  and  should  think  very  ill  of  Steve  if  he 
didn’t  go  and  look  after  her  at  once;  and  all  the  time  she 
kept  still  another  thought  deep  in  her  heart,  though  it 
peeped  out  in  the  wistful  glance  of  the  soft  brown  eyes 
that  followed  Steve  as  the  door  closed  after  him — a hope 
that  those  famous  great  blue  eyes  of  Jane  Craven  might 
not  have  descended  to  her  daughter,  lest  they  should  look 
Steve  Eaymond's  heart  away,  and  turn  his  head  from  its 
allegiance  to  the  girl  who  knew,  by  some  mysterious  femi- 
nine instinct,  that  he  as  yet  had  only  played  at  love  with 
her,  while  she,  alas  for  her  happiness  and  peace!  only  too 
truly  loved  him. 

“ We  were  so  happy  and  merry!”  she  thought,  starting 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIN. 


from  a reverie  with  a sigh^  to  find  the  room  deserted  save 
by  Mr.  Lester,  who  was  dozing,  and  herself;  for  Mrs.  Les- 
ter had  gone  to  prepare  for  the  new-comer,  and  Mrs.  Eay- 
mond  had  carried  the  babies  away  to  their  nurse — “so 
happy!  I thought  he  was  going  to  propose  seriously  to 
me,  when  Mr.  Lester  spoke.  And  then  this  girl — this 
Mercy,  whose  mother  was  a beauty,  and  an  artful  one— 
comes  upon  the^scene  and  spoils  all!^^  She  sighed  heavily, 
and  shuddered,  with  a sad  foreboding.  “ I doubt  she  will 
prove  no  messenger  of  mercy  to  me,^^  she  sighed,  “ in  spite 
of  her  sweet,  soft  name — a minister  of  evil  rather;  my 
heart  forebodes  it. 


CHAPTEE  III, 

She  looked  up, 

And  loved  him  with  the  love  that  Wtis  her  doom. 

Tennyson. 

Steve  started  on  his  journey,  truth  to  tell,  somewhat 
unwillingly.  He  had  but  little  hope  of  reaching  his  des- 
tination in  time  to  be  of  use,  and  a bootless  errand,  on 
such  a night,  was  not  a pleasant  prospect,  even  to  the 
kindest  and  most  good-natured  person,  and  Steve  was  very 
good-natured  indeed.  The  weather  was  bitter  cold;  the 
streets  were  covered  with  beaten-down  and  frozen  snow, 
hard  as  stone  and  slippery  as  glass,  and  he  had  to  walk  a 
considerable  distance  before  he  could  get  a car.  When  he 
finally  did  so,  and  settled  himself  into  a seat,  he  sighed 
almost  as  heavily  as  Ada  had  done,  with  genuine  regret  at 
having  been  compelled  to  leave  her. 

“ 1 do  believe  1 should  have  asked  her  that  question  to 
which  I know  sheTl  answer  " Yes,^  in  another  moment,^^ 
he  thought,  “ and  then  it  would  be  all  settled  and  over, 
and  the  little  mother  would  have  her  heart's  desire,  and  I 
should,  of  course,  be  a happy,  lucky  fellow.  There 
couldnT  possibly  be  a sweeter  girl  than  Ada;  and  I am — 


ms  coui^TKY  covsm. 


17 


well,  as  fond  of  her  as  fellows  ever  are  of  the  girls  they 
marry,  no  doubt,  only  I don’t  know  that  I particularly 
care  about  being  married.  However,  that’s  a pill  that 
every  decent  fellow  has  to  take,  and  nobody  could  sugar  it 
over  better  than  Ada.  I shall  marry  Ada,  of  course — con- 
found the  chance  that  takes  me  away  from  her  side,  bless 
her  bright  eyes!  and  sends  me  on  a cold,  comfortless  jour- 
ney like  this,  for  this  Mercy’s  sake!” 

lie  laughed  to  himself  as  the  odd  combination  of  words 
struck  him  suddenly. 

“ For  Charity’s  sake,  or  Decency’s  sake  would  come 
nearer  the  truth,”  muttered  he.  If  she  wasn’t  a sort  of 
relative,  one  of  the  servants  could  have  gone  to  meet  her; 
or  Dick  himself  might  have  done  the  gallant  instead  of 
foisting  his  duties  off  upon  me.  But  you  mustn’t  take 
these  married  men  from  their  own  firesides,  and  we  single 
fellows  have  to  pay  the  penalty.  I’ll  marry  little  Ada  at 
once,  and  come  in  for  some  of  these  pleasant  privileges,” 
he  laughed.  ‘‘  That  decides  it.” 

By  this  time  he  was  near  the  depot,  and  his  natural 
kindness  of  heart  getting  the  better  of  his  temporary  vexa- 
tion, he  began  to  feel  anxious  about  the  girl  he  had  come 
to  meet. 

“ She’s  only  an  ignorant  country  girl,  of  course,”  he 
thought,  ‘'and  she  will  feel  terribly  bewildered.  Poor 
soul!  She’s  coming  to  scant  kindness  and  a cold  welcome, 
I fear;  for  Polly,  kind  as  she  is,  is  vexed  about  her  com- 
ing, and  nobody  seems  to  want  her  at  all.  There’s  no 
need  to  let  her  feel  that  at  the  very  first,  by  refusing  the 
decent  civility  of  meeting  her.  She  sha’n’t,  either,  not  if 
I can  help  it  and  spare  her.  I’ll  do  that  much,  really  ‘ for 
Mercy’s  sake,’  at  any  rate.” 

He  hurried  into  the  depot,  ascertaining  by  a hasty  glance 
at  the  great  clock  that  he  was  full  fifteen  minutes  late. 

“ But  the  train  may  be  behind  time  too;  they  generally 
are,”  he  thought.  “ That’s  my  only  chance  now.” 


18 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


It  was  a chance  that  failed  him.  The  train  had  arrived 
on  time  and  discharged  its  passengers,  and  all  the  bustle 
attendant  on  its  arrival  had  subsided.  He  looked  anxious- 
ly into  the  waiting-room. 

She^ll  certainly  wait  awhile/^  he  thought. 

The  usual  quota  of  idlers  strolling  around  and  people 
waiting  for  the  next  trains  were  there;  but  no  simple, 
timid,  blue-eyed  country  girl,  such  as  he  had  come  to 
meet,  could  be  seen  anywhere.  Perhaps  she  had  not  ar- 
rived. He  turned  to  question  one  of  the  attendants  of  the 
room. 

Had  the  man  seen  such  and  such  a person?  A young 
lady?  Well,  yes;  but  evidently  a country  girl.  No;  the 
man,  after  considering  awhile,  decided  that  he  had  not. 

‘‘  There  was  only  one  passenger  that  hung  around  at  all 
as  if  looking  for  some  one  to  meet  her,^^  he  said.  “ And 
she  wasnT  no  country  girl.  I noticed  her  ^ cause  she  was 
the  out-and-out  handsomest  gal  1 ever  set  eyes  on,  and 
Vve  seen  a-many.  Tall  and  dark  and  proud  she  was,  and 
looked  around  her  as  if  the  city  belonged  to  her.  I heard 
her  mutter  to  herself,  ‘ If  Pm  not  worth  meetiiig  they^re 
not  worth  waiting  for,^  and  her  black  eyes  flashed.  That^s 
how  I know  she  looked  for  somebody.  By  jingo added 
the  man,  with  a laugh,  gals  with  eyes  like  hers  aiiiT  apt 
to  be  kept  waiting  much.  She  was  a beauty 

Steve  felt  puzzled.  This  couldnT  be  the  looked-for 
country  girl,  bred  up  in  a mountain  village. 

“ Did  she  make  any  inquiries?^^  he  asked,  doubtfully. 

“ Asked  me  the  way  out  to  the  ferry,^^  said  the  man, 
“ By  the  bye,  she  must  have  been  a stranger  by  that. 
Well,  it  ainT  three  minutes  since  she  went  out  that  way; 
if  you  hurry  after  her  you  might  find  her.^^ 

Steve  hurried  out  accordingly  the  way  the  man  pointed 
and  passed  along  the  crowded  sidewalk  in  front  of  the 
depot,  looking  eagerly  into  every  face,  not  so  much  in 
search  of  this  belated  beauty  as  of  the  simple  and  blue- 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN.  19 

eyed  little  country  girl  whom  he  felt  sure  he  had  come  to 
meet. 

His  generosity  and  chivalry  were  up  in  arms  as  he 
thought  of  the  poor,  bewildered  child  fresh  from  a tender 
home  and  cast  among  strangers  without  one  kind  face  or 
voice  to  give  her  a welcoming  word  or  smile.  How  fright- 
ened and  heavy-hearted  she  must  be  in  this  busy,  noisy, 
crowded,  dangerous  place,  and  how  would  she  ever  find 
her  way?  He  glanced  around  him  at  the  bustling  throng, 
slipping  and  sliding  over  snow-ice. 

If  she  ever  attempts  to  cross  the  street  alone  she’ll  get 
knocked  down  and  hurt  to  a certainty,"’  he  muttered.  “ I 
do  wish  Dick  Lester  had  spoken  earlier  and  let  me  come 
for  her  in  time.” 

He  stood  still  for  a moment  glancing  around.  At  that 
instant  an  outcry  arose  close  beside  him.  There  was  a 
piercing  shriek,  a Babel  of  voices  mingled  in  a wild  confu- 
sion of  cries,  prayers,  oaths — the  rattle  of  harness,  the 
lashing  of  whips,  and  the  clang  and  clatter  of  horses’  feet 
— and  then  Steve  saw  a woman’s  form  lying  on  the  frozen 
road,  and  two  horses,  forced  back  for  the  moment  almost 
on  to  their  haunches,  striking  out  their  sharp,  heavy,  iron- 
shod  hoots  in  the  air  above  her  white,  upturned  face,  from 
which  in  another  moment  their  descent  would  crush  the 
life  and  beauty  out  forever. 

But  they  never  touched  her.  With  a cry  of  horror  and 
agony  Steve  flung  himself  between  her  and  death,  and 
forced  the  struggling  horses  back,  while  others,  animated 
by  his  bold  example,  lifted  her  from  the  ground  and  placed 
her  on  the  sidewalk  in  safety.  It  was  all  done  more  rapid- 
ly than  1 can  tell  it,  and  presently  Steve,  shaken  severely, 
with  his  arms  almost  torn  from  their  sockets,  and  a sore 
bruise  on  one  shoulder  where  a hoof  had  struck,  to  say 
nothing  of  torn  clothes  and  a hat  lost,  was  looking  around, 
anxiously  and  eagerly,  for  the  woman  whose  life  he  had 
saved. 


20 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


No  commonplace  woman  she;  for,  in  spite  of  her  recent 
danger  and  natural  fright,  she  moved  to  meet  him,  look- 
ing wonderfully  calm  and  smiling,  though  deathly  pale. 
She  had  never  lost  consciousness  through  it  all,  but  had 
looked  her  peril  bravely  in  the  face,  and  declining  the 
offers  of  those  around  who  volunteered  to  see  her  to  some 
resting-place,  had  waited  quietly  for  her  preserver.  She 
moved  to  meet  him  as  he  came  to  her,  and  frankly  held 
out  her  hand. 

“ You  have  saved  my  life,^^  she  said;  and  then  emotion 
choked  her,  and  tears  came  both  to  eyes  and  voice  at  once. 

I believe  I have  answered  Steve,  too  proud  and  joy- 
ful to  feel  his  bruises.  ‘‘  And  1 thank  God  for  it!  But 
what  else  can  1 do  to  serve  you?  Can  1 call  a carriage?  or 
— or  take  you  anywhere?^ ^ 

He  had  forgotten  the  poor,  neglected  country  cousin 
whom  he  had  come  to  meet,  and  no  wonder,  before  this 
wonian’s  beauty;  it  was  of  the  kind  that  poets  dream  of — 
dark,  Juno-like,  superb,  and  with  an  unusual  charm  of 
softness  added  at  this  hour  by  her  pathetic  pallor;  her 
glorious  dark  eyes  shining  like  soft  stars  through  their 
tears,  thrilled  through  every  fiber  of  his  being  and  charmed 
his  soul.  Alas!  for  Ada. 

“ It  might  be  best  for  me  to  have  a carriage,  as  I am  a 
stranger  to  New  York,"'^  she  said,  in  soft,  sweet  tones  that 
confirmed  her  beauty’s  spell.  “ 1 wish  to  go  to  Seven- 
teenth Street,  to  the  house  of  a Mr.  Lester.” 

But  Stephen  interrupted  her  with  a joyful  cry: 

‘‘You  are  Mercy  Craven!  Can  you  be  Mercy  Craven 
indeed?” 

“ I am,”  she  answered,  wonderingly.  “ And  you?” 

He  seized  her  hands  in  his  delightedly. 

“ Am  Steve  Eaymond,  Dick  Lester’s  brother-in-law, 
who  was  sent  by  him  to  meet  you,  but  who  missed  the 
train.  My  dear,  charming  cousin,  welcome!” 

This  kindness  coming  upon  her  loneliness  and  after  her 


ins  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


21 


danger  was  too  much;  the  proudj  beautiful  face  glowed 
and  softened. 

“ Oh^  thank  you!’^  she  said,  impulsively.  “ It  seemed 
so  cold  and  lonely  just  at  first.  Thank  you,  both  for  your 
goodness  and  for  my  life,  my  kind,  brave  cousin.-’^ 

And  she  looked  up  into  his  eyes,  his  frank,  kind,  hand- 
some eyes,  so  full  of  glowing  admiration  that  her  own 
sunk  before  them;  and  instinctively  a line  out  of  one  of 
Tennyson^s  idyls — the  story  of  Elaine,  with  which  she  had 
beguiled  the  tediousness  of  her  journey  that  afternoon — 
came  into  her  mind,  and  almost  seemed  repeated  in  her 
ears  these  words: 

She  looked  up, 

And  loved  him  with  the  love  that  was  her  doom!'’ 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

MERCY. 

Short  as  Mercy  Craven^s  experience  of  life  had  been — 
she  was  but  just  eighteen— its  bitterness,  coldness,  harsh- 
ness, general  unsatisfactoriness  had  sufficed  to  disgust  and 
weary  her,  at  least  with  that  particular  phase  of  existence 
in  which  her  lot  had  hitherto  been  cast.  The  tender,  sim- 
ple, timid  girl,  going  forth  reluctantly  to  earn  her  living 
among  strangers,  and  grieving  for  the  dear  and  loving 
home  which  she  had  left;  the  sorrowful  and  lonely  little 
maiden  who  had  moved  Steve  Kaymond’s  kindly  sympa- 
thies had,  as  a matter  of  fact,  no  existence  at  all  in  Mercy 
C ravelins  person. 

She  was  not  tender-hearted,  or,  if  she  were,  none  of  the 
experiences  or  exigencies  of  her  life,  thus  far,  had  made 
her  aware  of  it.  Neither  was  she  gentle,  further  than  the 
requirements  of  a lady-like  demeanor  rendered  necessary. 
As  for  timidity,  I believe  she  both  could  and  would,  if  re- 
quired, have  undertaken  a journey  to  the  North  Pole  and 
back  alone  and  unprotected,  without  one  quickened  heart- 


22 


HIS  COUKTRY  COUSIK. 


beat  or  nervous  tremor  troubling  her  from  the  commence- 
ment of  the  pilgrimage  to  its  end,  especially  if  that  end 
had  brought  her  money.  For,  at  this  period  of  her  life,  if 
you  had  asked  her  what  she  esteemed  the  chief  good  of  life 
to  be,  she  would  certainly  have  told  you,  “ Moiiey!^^  after 
which  candid  confession,  1 fear  you  will  not  think  very 
highly  of  the  heroine  of  my  story,  though  its  heroine  she 
most  undoubtedly  will  be  in  spite  of  this  and  other  faults 
of  her  foolish  youth,  of  which  time  and  its  lessons  will 
either  cure  her,  or  else  award  to  her  the  just  and  natural 
punishment. 

She  had  left  her  home  upon  the  early  morning  of  that 
very  day,  not  with  regret  or  pain,  but  with  rejoicing.  Such 
a dreary  home  it  had  been  to  her — so  mean,  narrow,  poor, 
and  its  life  so  wearily  monotonous,  that  she  had  felt,  as 
she  turned  her  back  upon  it,  like  a bird  released  from  a 
cage.  It  had  held  no  loves  to  tear  her  heart  at  parting — 
though  Mercy  was  the  type  of  woman  who  can  hate  bitter- 
ly and  love  well;  but  the  only  creature  who  had  a natural 
claim  upon  her  affection  had  checked  and  curbed  the  girFs 
fresh  feelings  so  that  they  were  like  a frozen  current — 
hard  and  cold  upon  the  surface,  however  strong  and  swift 
and  deep  might  be  their  life  beneath. 

She  had  loved  her  mother  dearly  as  a little  child,  and 
would  have  loved  her  ever,  but  Jane  Graven  had  apparent- 
ly exacted  respect  and  obediance  rather  than  affection, 
and,  as  her  daughter’s  powers  of  observation  grew,  and 
she  saw  and  felt  her  mother’s  coldness  intensify  into  some- 
thing that  appeared  (to  the  sensitive  girl)  almost  dislike,  an 
answering  pride  awoke  to  meet  and  match  this  coldness, 
and  she  hid  her  heart-wound  under  an  armor  of  silence 
and  reserve  so  perfect  that  even  Mrs.  Craven  herself  did 
not  penetrate  it  nor  guess  how  warmly  the  heart-fires 
burned  beneath  the  crust  of  ice  which  her  own  unmotherly 
coldness  had  created. 

It  was  not  that  the  mother  did  not  love  her  child,  after 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIK. 


23 


her  own  hard  fashion.  As  there  are  natures  and  nat- 
ures^ so  are  there  loves  and  loves.  Jane  Craven^s  nature 
was  hard,  selfish,  and  cold;  she  cared  for  herself  the  first 
of  all.  Only  in  two  instances  during  her  whole  life-time 
had  she  for  a moment  forgotten  herself  in  her  love  for  an- 
other, and  those  two  instances  had  been  her  husband  and 
their  child.  The  first  of  these  loves — Eoy  Craven — had 
proved  the  blight  and  ruin  of  her  life;  and  the  second — 
poor  Mercy — as  she  grew  toward  womanhood,  and  repro- 
duced, as  it  were,  before  the  angry,  injured  woman^s  eyes 
the  father^s  splendid  southern  eyes  and  darkly  handsome 
face,  estranged  the  mother^s  natural  tenderness  from  her- 
self by  reawakening  the  vengeful  feelings  of  the  wife 
against  the  husband  who  had  wronged  her.  Jane  Craven 
would  turn  away  with  a shudder  sometimes  from  her 
young  daughter’s  smiling  face,  saying,  in  her  heart,  It  is 
as  if  he  dared  to  stand  and  smile  before  me!”  And  then 
the  look  which  so  chilled  the  young  girl’s  heart  was  a look 
of  dislike,  indeed,  and  the  misfortune  of  it  was  that  Mercy 
never  rightly  guessed  at  whom  that  dislike  was  directed. 

And  so  she  grew  hard  and  cold.  Jane  Craven,  seeing 
that,  was  glad  of  it,  for  the  girl’s  own  sake.  Her  own  ex- 
perience had  gone  to  show  that  selfish  coldness  is  a safe 
armor  for  the  heart,  and  that  it  is  only  when  women  deep- 
ly love  that  they  can  be  made  to  suffer  deeply  also.  “ She 
is  harder  than  1 ever  was  at  her  age,”  she  thought,  com- 
placently, and  colder  and  prouder.  No  man  will  ever 
take  her  heart  out  of  her  bosom  to  play  with  it  awhile,  and 
then  throw  it  back  broken.  If  she  did  not  look  so  like 
him  1 might  love  her  more,  but  I could  do  no  better  duly 
by  her  than  I do  now  in  checking  all  girlish  sentiment  of 
her  nature,  and  teaching  her  that  to  love  is  to  be  always  a 
fool,  and  often  a ruined  one  into  the  bargain.  She  may 
not  love  me,  but  she  will  thank  me  some  day;  and,  if  she 
has  her  father’s  nature,  as  she  has  his  face,  I want  no  love 
of  his  kind.  I shall  have  done  my  duty  by  my  child  at  least,” 


34 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


People  have  such  strange  ideas  of  duty.  It  never  oc- 
curred to  Jane  Craven  to  consider  that  this  young  nature, 
intrusted  to  her  care,  might  be  different  from  that  of  both 
father  and  mother,  in  that  it  was  blended  of  each.  As  a 
fact  the  girl  had  inherited  the  best  qualities  of  both  par- 
ents, and  therefore  had  so  warhl  and  frank  and  generous  a 
disposition  that,  much  as  her  mother’s  selfish  teachings  in- 
jured it,  they  could  not  vwholly  spoil;  and,  by  the  laws  of 
compensation,  they  had  one  good  effect  at  least:  in  that, 
by  turning  her  feelings  inward  and  back  upon  themselves, 
she  was  forced  into  acquiring  patience,  self-control,  self- 
reliance — most  useful  qualities  in  a battle  with  the  world. 

That  battle  began  early.  Mrs.  Craven’s  means  were 
very  small,  and  took  the  form  of  a monthly  income,  which 
had  been  hers  before  marriage  (probably  had  been  more 
potent  than  her  beauty  in  tempting  Eoy  Craven  to  woo  her 
for  his  wife),  and  certainly  would  not  have  been  hers  long 
afterward,  if  the  handsome  scamp  whom  she  had  loved 
could  have  got  hold  of  it.  But  Jane  Craven  had  been 
much  too  acute  and  worldly  wise  for  that.  No  amount  of 
cajolery  could  induce  her  either  to  cancel  the  instrument 
which  secured  the  modest  monthly  income  to  herself,  or  to 
draw  for  any  amount  or  any  purpose  whatever,  upon  the 
principal.  For  how  much  of  her  wedded  misery  this  mis- 
chievous money  was  answerable,  who  can  tell? 

At  least,  it  had  served  her  well  during  her  long  years  of 
widowhood,  enabling  her  and  her  child  to  live,  poorly,  it  is 
true,  and  in  an  out-of-the-way  mountain  village,  but  still 
independently.  Mercy  could  just  remember  their  coming 
there,  when  she  was  but  four  years  old,  and  what  a little 
paradise  the  garden,  with  meadows  and  mountains  beyond, 
had  seemed  to  her  baby  eyes.  She  had  had  time  to  grow 
sick  of  them  since  then,  and  to  almost  hate  them.  So  near 
did  she  come  to  hating  her  home,  indeed,  that  when,  at 
twelve  years  old,  the  old  rector,  who  had  taken  a special 
interest  in  the  handsome,  talented,  fatherless  child,  de- 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


25 


dared  that  she  had  got  beyond  the  teachings  of  the  village 
school^  and  needed  better  and  more  suitable  instruction 
than  even  he  himself  could  give  her,  she  hailed  with  joy 
the  prospect  of  any  change,  even  a change  so  unpromising 
as  that  which  the  rector  purposed,  namely,  that  as  her 
mother  had  not  the  means  of  paying  for  her  education,  she 
should  go  and  earn  it  among  strangers. 

So,  as  there  seemed  no  better  thing  to  be  done,  Mercy 
was  sent,  at  barely  thirteen  years  of  age,  as  articled  pupil 
to  a high-class  private  school  in  Philadelphia,  where,  in  re- 
turn for  her  services  as  a governess-drudge,  she  was  per- 
mitted, in  her  leisure  time,  to  acquire  what  education  she 
could,  together  with  some  smattering  of  the  accomplish- 
ments of  a lady.  The  position  was  no  worse  than  others 
of  a similar  kind,  and  better  than  a great  many;  and  the 
girl  was  so  j^atient,  silent,  industrious,  and  uncomplaining 
that  she  gradually  won  the  good-will  of  teachers  and  prin- 
cipal alike,  and  was  made  much  of  by  them,  and  grew  to 
look  upon  the  place  as  her  home.  Her  home  for  the  pres' 
ent — that  is  to  say,  for  Mercy,  at  fifteen,  knew  as  well  as 
any  one  that  she  was  beautiful,  and  looked  forward  with  a 
purely  mercenary  ambition  to  the  time  when  her  beauty 
should  fetch  its  price,  which,  as  she  calculated,  should  be 
a handsome  home  and  a wealthy  husband. 

Considerations  of  love  did  not  trouble  her.  If  ever  the 
natural,  womanly  hunger  for  love  cried  out  in  her  soul, 
she  thought  it  a weakness,  and  stifled  it,  and  was  ashamed 
of  it.  Her  mother  had  sneered  and  scofied  at  love — even 
the  natural  love  of  her  own  child;  and  none  of  the  teachers 
ever  spoke  of  such  follies,  and,  if  the  girls  did,  what  were 
they  but  silly  girls?  Marriage,  of  course! — always  provid- 
ing that  it  should  lift  her  from  the  poverty  she  hated  and 
place  her  in  the  golden  paradise  of  wealth,  of  which  she 
constantly  dreamed.  A rich  marriage  was  her  one  ambi- 
tion and  hope — a hope  that  filled  her  mind  too  completely 
to  leave  any  room  for  thoughts  of  love  to  enter  there. 


26 


ms  corKTj^v  rovsm. 


She  remained  at  school  tliroiigh  holidays  and  all  until 
her  seventeenth  year,  when  Jane  Craven  became  seriously 
ill  and  sent  for  her.  Then  long-outraged  nature  spoke  out 
in  the  poor  girl’s  heart.  She  longed  for  the  mother  who, 
through  three  years  of  estrangement,  must  have  loved  her 
still,  since  in  her  illness  she  sent  for  her.  She  journeyed 
home  to  the  far-off  village  with  a softened  heart,  full  of 
hopes  and  loves  that  only  needed  a tender  word  and  look 
from  Mr.  Craven  to  warm  them  into  happy,  active  life. 
Alas!  no  such  look  awaited  her.  Jane  Crav3n,  who — for 
she  had  nature  in  her  too — had  anxiously  desired  her 
daughter’s  presence,  turned  away  with  a shudder  from  the 
beautiful  dark  face  that  greeted  her  so  tenderly  and 
timidly. 

“ You  have  grown  like  your  father.  Turn  your  face 
away!”  she  said,  and  turned  her  own  face  to  the  wall  with- 
out even  a kiss  of  w^elcome. 

It  was  hard,  after  four  years.  No  one  ever  knew  how 
hard  to  Mercy,  for  only  the  moon  and  stars  looked  on  her 
in  her  room  that  night,  and  saw  the  tears  she  shed  over 
this  cheated,  ruined  hope  as  she  crushed  it  down  and 
buried  it.  Ah,  yes,  one  living  friend  was  with  her — a dog, 
who  had  not  forgotten  her  in  these  years,  nor  ceased  to 
love  her.  She  held  the  faithful  creature  in  her  arms  and 
pressed  his  glossy  head  against  her  breast,  as  if  she  were 
thankful  for  even  this  warm,  living  love  to  lean  her  lonely, 
aching  heart  against.  If  Jane  Craven  could  have  looked 
into  her  young  daughter’s  room  just  then,  she  might  have 
seen  what  would  have  been  to  her  a revelation. 

As  it  was,  however,  she  only  thought,  half  complain- 
ingly: 

“ How  cold  and  hard  she  is!  1 was  cold  to  her,  it  is 
true,  but  she  did  not  care.  Well,  all  the  better  for  her 
peace,  perhaps,”  and  never  guessed  at  the  love  she  had 
put  away  from  her,  or  the  cruel  wrong  she  had  dealt 
her  daughter’s  heart. 


HIS  COUJSITRY  COUSIK. 


27 


CIIAPTEK  V. 

MOTHER  AND  CHILD. 

What  wonder  that  life  in  this  dull  mountain  home, 
where  no  soul  cared  for  her,  or  understood,  or  sympa- 
thized with  her,  soon  became  to  the  lonely  girl  more  intol- 
erable than  it  had  been  before?  Truly,  Mercy  had  not  one 
companion  or  friend,  for  her  mother,  who  had  recovered 
her  health,  and  more  than  her  usual  coldness,  was  neither, 
and  the  old  rector  who  had  been  so  good  to  her  was  dead. 
To  be  sure  there  were  some  country  lovers  who,  attracted 
by  her  striking  beauty,  would  have  wooed  her  to  share 
their  homes,  if  she  had  not  almost  harshly  repelled  them. 
But  the  girPs  ambition  looked  far  higher  than  these,  and 
she  met  their  advances  with  an  angry  scorn  that  at  once 
extinguished  their  hopes.  She  a farmer ^s  wife!  Ay,  or 
even  a miller^s  wife  (for  the  miller  had  asked  her,  and  he 
was  rich,  according  to  country  notions).  She  raged  with 
indignation  at  the  thought. 

Do  I look  as  if  1 were  meant  for  such  a fate?'’^  she 
demanded  of  her  mother,  drawing  her  tall  figure  to  its  full 
height  the  while,  and  turning  the  dark  splendor  of  her 
hashing  eyes  upon  her.  “ Me  vegetate  for  a life-time  in 
this  wretched  village,  the  companion  of  a man  whom  1 de- 
spise, and  who  has  not  money  enough  to  make  me  tolerate 
him!  ITl  go  down  to  the  mill-stream  and  give  myself  up 
to  death  rather  than  to  the  miller.  I mean  to  move  among 
the  richest  and  proudest  in  the  land.  I have  beauty,  I 
know,  and  Heaven  knows  how  I have  toiled  for  education 
to  fit  me  for  the  position  I covet,  and  will  yet  command. 
I will!’^  She  brought  her  foot  down  forcibly  as  if  the  ob- 
stacles between  her  and  her  ambition  lay  there  beneath  her 
feet  to  be  crushed.  “ 1 will!  I am  sick  of  this  life;  sick 
of  poverty;  sick  of  this  place!  Mother, she  went  on^ 


28 


HIS  COU^s^TKY  COUSIK. 


passionately,  “ if  you  care  for  me  at  all,  have  pity  on  me 
— help  me  to  leave  this  place!^^ 

This  was  after  she  had  been  at  home  almost  a year. 
Jane  Craven  had  listened,  silently  and  watched  her  intent- 
ly. She  nodded  acquiescence  now,  and  answered  with  a 
cool  quietude  that  contrasted  strangely  with  her  daughter's 
passion  and  fire: 

“ You  have  reason  to  know  that  1 care  for  you,  1 think. 
Who  else  has  cared  for  you  since  you  were  born,  and  what 
else  have  1 cared  for?  Because  1 have  not  pampered  and 
spoiled  you,  and  made  you  unfit  for  the  battle  of  life, 
which  poor  and  beautiful  young  girls  must  fight  if  they 
would  gain  any  of  lifers  good  gifts — because  of  this  you 
think  me  unloving!  And  yet  I have  loved  you  well  enough 
to  devote  my  life  to  you;  to  hide  myself  in  this  dull  corner 
of  the  earth  lest  he  should  take  you  from  me!  Ah!^^  her 
eyes  rested  on  Mercy  with  a strangely  tender  and  regretful 
look  in  their  blue  depths — “ ah!  that  was  many  years  ago; 
you  were  my  little  baby  darling  then,  and  I never  thought 
that  your  sweet  eyes  and  face  would  wound  my  heart  by 
growing  to  look  so  like  him!’^ 

She  spoke  musingly,  as  one  who  thinks  aloud,  looking 
the  while  upon  her  daughter's  face  with  the  thoughtful 
gaze  we  cast  upon  a picture.  Perhaps  she  was  scarcely 
conscious  herself  of  how  much  her  words  implied,  but  they 
gave  Mercy  a glimpse — the  first — into  that  past  which  had 
been  to  her  ever  as  a closed  book  that  must  never  be 
opened.  She  caught  eagerly  at  this  chance  of  hearing 
something  of  that  lost  and  unknown  father  whom  she 
loved — in  her  imagination,  and  because  he  was  unknown. 
She  came  and  knelt  down  by  her  mother’s  side,  where  she 
sat  brooding  by  the  fire,  and  spoke  passionately  and  im- 
pulsively: 

You  have  been  a good,  true,  dutiful  mother  to  me,” 
she  said,  “ but 'not  a loving  one;  and  1 have  craved  for 
love  sometimes,  though  you  never  guessed  it.  You  say 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


29 


you  brought  me  here  lest  he — my  father — should  take  me 
from  you.  Did  he  love  me  then?  And  was  he  not  dead? 
Oh,  tell  me  of  my  father!  Why  was  1 not  permitted  to 
know  him?  Where  is  he?^^ 

Jane  Craven  drew  her  hands  away,  for  the  girl  had 
seized  and  held  them. 

“In  heaven,  I hope,^^  she  answered,  bitterly,  “since 
now  I know,  thank  God,  that  he  is  dead,  indeed,  and  we 
are  bound  in  decency  to  wish  the  dead  at  peace.  He 
ruined  my  peace  while  he  lived,  however.  ‘ Was  he  not 
dead?^  you  ask.  1 have  long  believed  and  hoped  so,  but  I 
never  knew  it  for  a fact  until  a year  ago,  for  only  one  year 
ago  he  died.^^  She  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  fire  as  if  she 
saw  some  vision  there,  and  shuddered  violently.  “ He 
died,^^  she  repeated,  in  low,  distinct  tones,  as  if  reassuring 
herself  about  it.  “ I saw  him  dead. 

Mercy,  still  kneeling  by  her  mother^s  side,  drew  back 
from  her  a little,  the  better  to  look  up  into  her  face~a 
white,  worn  face  just  now,  with  only  the  ghost  of  its  old 
beauty  left,  and  something  that  may  have  been  the  ghost 
of  an  old  love  looking  out  of  the  deep-blue  eyes.  Hard, 
cold,  handsome  eyes  Mercy  had  often  thought  them;  but 
they  were  softened  now. 

As  she  gazed  upon  her  mother  a knowledge  came  to  her 
like  a revelation.  She  said  to  herself,  “ Poor  woman,  she 
has  suffered  much.^^  And  the  conviction  softened  her 
also.  She  slipped  her  arms  around  her  mother^s  waist 
and  laid  her  head  against  her. 

“ Don^t  put  me  away  from  you,^^  she  pleaded.  “ Sure- 
ly I should  be  your  comforter.  If  he  wronged  you  and 
made  you  suffer,  be  sure  I will  not  resemble  him  in  that, 
however  1 may  in  looks.  You  might  have  been  the  hap- 
pier, perhaps,  if  you  had  let  me  love  you.  At  any  rate, 
you  can  forgive  us,  him  and  me,  now  that  he  is  dead. 
Tell  me  about  him,  mother — I am  no  longer  a child — tell 
me  all.''^ 


30 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


Jane  Craven  suffered  her  daughter's  embrace  rather 
than  returned  it.  The  long,  habitual  coldness  of  years 
could  not  be  broken  at  a word,  however  kindly;  but  she  did 
endure  it,  and  that  was  much  from  her  and  quite  content- 
ed Mercy. 

“ There ^s  not  much  to  teli,^^  she  said,  with  a weary 
sigh.  My  fate  was  a common  one,  that  may  happen  to 
any  woman  who  has  the  folly  and  ill-luck  to  love  a man 
better  than  she  loves  herself.  The  best  of  men  is  not 
worth  it,  and  I loved  one  of  the  worst.  Ay,^""  as  the  girl 
shrunk  back,  “ those  are  hard  words  to  hear  of  your 
father;  but  no  one  ever  heard  of  him  any  good,  and  that^s 
the  worst  1^11  say  of  him  to  you,  now  or  ever.  Being  dead 
let  him  rest  I was  warned  against  him;  but  what  woman 
ever  yet  listened  to  a warning  against  the  man  she  loved? 
So  1 married  him,  and  was  miserable.  What  did  not  I suf- 
fer? Neglect,  poverty,  ill-usage,  jealousy;  the  last  did  not 
trouble  me  long  though,  for  he  wore  my  love  out,  and 
then  1 was  jealous  no  longer. 

Then  you  came,  and  I bound  my  whole  life  up  in  you, 
and  only  asked  of  him  to  go  his  own  evil  way  and  leave  us 
two  together.  Would  he  do  it,  think  you?  Ay,  for  a 
price.  1 had  a little  money.  We  have  lived  on  it,  you  and 
I,  all  your  life.  He  wanted  me  to  give  him  that,  and  I 
might  take  you  and  be  free  of  him.  He  never  cared  how 
we  should  live — 1,  a pretty  young  girl,  as  1 was  then,  with 
a young  infant.  He  told  me;  but  no,  I will  not  tell  you 
what  he  said,  since  he  was  your  father.  Enough  that  1 
hated  him  more  than  1 had  loved.  You  were  nearly  four 
years  old.  1 knew  he  would  steal  you  from  me,  and  I, 
with  my  small  means,  should  I ever  get  you  back?  I 
would  not  risk  it;  I stole  you  instead,  and  came  here  and 
hid  all  traces  so  carefully  that  he  never  tracked  me  out. 

“We  might  have  starved  upon  my  money  in  the  city, 
but  it  did  very  well  for  us  here;  and  I — if  1 had  not  happi- 
ness, had  peace.  I called  myself  a widow,  and  hoped  and 


HIS  COUKTllT  COUSm. 


31 


prayed  that  my  words  might  prove  true  ones;  but  1 had 
always  a terror  over  me  that  he  might  be  alive  and  hiid 
me  out.  He  would  impose  on  your  credulity  I thought; 
act  love  and  devotion — estrange  you  from  a mother  whom 
you  had  not  found  too  fond,  and  take  you  away.  You,  a 
girl,  a woman,  and  so  pretty,  in  Eoy  Craven^s  hands  I 
What  would  have  been  your  fate?  To  save  you  from  sucli 
a danger  I lived  buried  here;  but  the  loneliness  and  my 
wearing  fears  imbittered  me,  and  when  you  grew  so  like 
him  my  heart  hardened  even  to  you.  I would  not  inquire 
about  him  lest  he  should  find  me  out.  1 deprived  myself 
of  your  society  in  your  holidays  for  four  years,  lest  he 
should  meet  you  going  or  returning  on  your  journey.  Oh, 
he  was  the  evil  genius  of  my  life!  One  year  ago  — she 
seized  her  daughter's  hands  and  looked  earnestly  into  the 
pale,  upturned  face — 1 was  sitting  in  this  very  room, 
and  it  was  evening.  1 had  been  out  and  brought  the 
‘ Herald  ^ in  with  me,  and  sat  down  to  read  it.  Almost 
the  first  thing  I saw  was  a notice  of  the  finding  of  a body 
drowned.  A man  of  forty,  perhaps;  very  dark-complex- 
ioned, and  on  his  clothes  the  name  ‘Eoy  Craven.^  1^1] 
show  you  the  notice  some  time.  It  struck  me  down  like 
death.  The  shock,  the  relief  of  knowing  him  dead,  the 
horror  of  his  having  died  so  were  too  much  for  me,  and  I 
fainted.  That  was  the  beginning  of  my  illness.  I wouldnT 
give  way  to  it;  1 went  to  New  York  next  day  to  see  with 
my  own  eyes  if  I were  free,  and  I saw  your  father — the 
man  1 had  so  loved  and  feared,  and  hated — dead 

She  gasped  and  sunk  back  in  her  chair  overcome  by  the 
recollection.  Merc}q  who  had  listened  intently,  pale  as 
death,  spoke  in  an  awed  whisper: 

You  were  sure  ? You  knew  him?^^ 

Mrs.  Craven  nodded. 

“ Ay,  I knew  him.  There  was  some  white  mixed  with 
his  black  hair,  but  }^ears  did  that  of  course;  and  the  eyes 
— though  I pushed  back  the  lids  a little  to  look  at  them — 


32 


HIS  COUKTIiY  COUSIN. 


seemed  smaller  than  Eoy’s  eyes  were;  but  then  he  had  lain 
in  the  water  awhile,  and  death  and  time  are  mighty 
change-workers;  oh,  yes,  I knew  him.  The  name  was 
written  on  his  shirt  by  his  own  hand  (he  always  used  to 
mark  everything  belonging  to  him;  I wondered  it  wasn't 
on  his  other  clothes),  and  he  wore  upon  his  finger  an  old 
gypsy  ring  that  he  was  superstitious  about.  Oh!  it  was  cer- 
tainly Roy  Craven.'’^ 

Mercy  persisted  still: 

“ The  face — you  would  recognize  the  face?*^  she  said. 

Jane  Craven  shuddered  violently. 

“ There  was  no  face!^^  she  answered,  in  a low  tone  of 
horror.  1 would  not  have  told  you  if  you  had  not 
asked.  The  features  had  been  all  beaten  in,  only  the  eyes 
were  perfect.  The  skull  was  crushed  and  broken  too,  and 
there  was  a deep,  gaping  knife-wound  in  the  side  of  the 
neck.  Ugh!  I fancy  I can  see  it  still!  Is  it  any  wonder 
that  the  sight  nearly  killed  me?  I loved  him  once.  But 
he  went  foul  ways  and  came  to  a foul  end.  Child,  your 
father  had  been  murdered !^^ 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ROY  CRAVEN. 

There  was  confidence  and  amity  between  mother  and 
daughter  after  this,  and  Jane  Craven  bestirred  herself  to 
advance  the  girPs  interests  by  liberating  her  from  the 
prison  of  her  home. 

You  shall  go  to  New  York,’^  she  said.  “ I think  I 
have  sufficient  interest  with  Richard  Lester  to  get  you  into 
his  family  for  awhile.  He  made  a fool  of  himself  about 
me  once,  and  would  not  like  it  known — for  he  is  a conceit- 
ed fool.  I’ll  go  and  talk  to  him.  The  Lesters  and  the 
Raymonds  are  rich,  especially  Janies  Raymond,  the  eldest 
of  the  sons.  He  has  the  store,  and  is  a born  money-get- 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


33 


ter.  If  you  can  please  him  you  may  be  content  to  take 
him.  The  younger  son  is  well  off  too,  but  I think  he  is 
married,  or  going  to_^be.  If  you  can  become  an  inmate  of 
liichard  1 jester’s  home  (I  should  have  made  it  your  own 
home  if  your  father  had  died  long  ago) — your  own  wits 
and  your  beauty  must  do  the  rest.  First  let  me  see  if  I 
can  place  you  there.” 

How  Mrs.  Craven  succeeded  in  her  design  my  readers 
already  know.  She  was  an  unscrupulous  woman,  who  held 
that  life  owed  her  some  share  of  ease  and  comfort,  and  she 
would  secure  them,  at  any  rate  for  her  child,  by  what 
means  she  could.  Her  treachery  to  Polly  Lester  (it  was 
something  very  like  treachery  to  deceive  her  so,  at  whose 
table  she  sat,  and  whose  courtesy  she  accepted)  did  not 
trouble  her  at  all. 

“ There  really  is  nothing  in  the  letters,”  she  told  her- 
self; ‘‘but  if  I can  make  capital  out  of  them,  why 
shouldn’t  I?  It  is  for  Mercy’s  sake.  And  I can’t  help  it 
that  Eichard  is  a fool.” 

And  so,  working  upon  his  vanity  and  his  fears,  she  se- 
cured Mr.  Lester’s  promise. 

Then  she  went  shopping,  and  purchased  many  pretty 
things  for  Mercy,  among  them  enough  black  silk  to  make 
a dress. 

“Out  of  my  savings,”  she  said,  as  she  laid  these  treas- 
ures before  the  girl  on  her  return.  “ Oh,  yes,  I saved  a 
little  out  of  my  little  during  the  four  years  you  were  at 
school;  pinched  myself  many  a time  for  Mercy’s  sake, 
while  Mercy  thought  1 was  forgetting  her.  Ah,  child,” 
she  added,  with  something  like  tenderness  in  her  eyes  and 
tone,  as  the  young  girl  kissed  her,  “ I can  forgive  you  for 
looking  like  your  father  now,  since  he  is  dead.” 

She  seemed,  indeed,  like  another  person  to  the  girl  ever 
since  the  day  of  that  sad  confidence.  The  ice  of  estrange- 
ment and  misunderstanding  once,  broken  between  them, 
congealed  no  more.  As  they  worked  and  planned  to- 


34 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


gether^  preparing  Mercy^s  very  modest  outfit  for  her  first 
adventure,  they  talked  hopefully  of  happiness  to  come. 

“ Your  beauty  is  about  all  you  have/’  the  mother  said, 
‘‘  and  you  must  turn  it  to  account.  Fortunately,  you  will 
look  handsomer  in  a calico  gown  than  other  women  do  in 
silks  and  satins.  Polly  Lester  will  try  to  keep  you  in  the 
background,  of  course,  but  you  must  not  sufter  that.  You 
are  going  to  New  York  to  be  seen  and  admired,  and  to  sell 
yourself  in  the  best  market,  remember.  Appeal  to  Mr. 
Lester  if  his  wife  snubs  you;  he’s  afraid  of  me;  for,  though 
1 send  his  silly  letters  back,  I keep  my  tongue,  and  he 
would  not  like  me  to  use  it.  Meantime  1 am  here  in  the 
old  dull  home,  if  ever  you  should  need  its  shelter.  Thank 
Heaven  I have  trained  you  sensibly,  so  that  you  know 
where  your  true  interest  lies,  and  will  be  in  no  danger  of 
making  the  same  mistake  your  mother  did,  and  spoiling 
all  your  life  for  the  sake  of  love!” 

The  scorn  with  which  she  spoke  that  word  might  almost 
have  stung  the  ears  that  heard  it;  but  Mercy’s  sentiments,  at 
this  period  of  her  life,  were  fully  in  accord  with  her  mother’s. 

“There  is  not  much  danger  of  my  being  a fool,”  she 
answered,  curtly — “ thanks  to  your  training,  mother.  I 
understand  it  better  now  than  1 did,  and  I thank  you. 
There  would  be  small  excuse  for  a girl  so  taught,  indeed, 
and  I never  could  comprehend  this  passion  of  love  con- 
ceived for  a stranger  hitherto  unknown,  who  suddenly  be- 
comes to  a woman  more  than  home,  friends,  name,  ay,  life 
itself.  Your  love  will  satisfy  me,  and  to  feel  that  1 possess 
it  has  all  the  charm  of  novelty.  AVhen  I secure  this  rich 
husband,  who  is  to  give  me  wealth  and  home,  you  must 
come  to  live  with  me  always.” 

And  Jane  Craven  smiled,  well  pleased  at  the  girl’s  idea. 
But  when,  a few  days  later,  Mercy  confided  to  her  another 
dutiful  intention,  which  was  to  be  put  into  execution  by 
this  same  anticipated  husband’s  wealth,  she  no  longer 
smiled. 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


3o 


“ I mciui  to  iiuike  him  find  and  bring  to  justice  my  poor 
fatlier^s  murderer/^  the  girl  announced  to  her.  “ No 
matter  what  were  his  faults,  mother,  no  one  had  a right 
to  cruelly  murder  him;  and  the  wretch  who  did  so  shall 
not  go  unpunished  when  I have  means  to  seek  for  him.  1 
will  tell  my  husband — when  I get  one — 

“ You  will  tell  him  nothing,  absolutely  nothing  about 
your  father,  excejit  that  he  is  dead,^^  Mrs.  Craven  inter- 
rupted, hastily.  ‘‘  The  past  must  be  left  to  rest,  and  he 
must  rest  in  the  grave  his  own  crimes  made  for  him.  I 
would  speak  mildly  if  I could;  I would  spare  his  memory 
to  his  child  if  she  would  let  me,  but  she  will  not.  Hear 
all  the  truth  then.  Your  father  was  a scoundrel — dis- 
reputable, dishonorable,  a swindler,  a blackleg,  a thief! 
To  marry  his  daughter  would  be  accounted  a disgrace  by 
any  decent  man.  Eoy  Craven  was  of  low  origin;  his 
mother  a wandering  gypsy  girl;  his  father — who  can  tell? 
Did  I marry  him  knowing  this?  Certainly  not.  I took 
him  on  his  own  showing,  and  he  cheated  me  as  he  cheated 
all  who  trusted  him.  Is  it  for  me  or  mine  to  make  a fuss 
about  his  death,  and  publish  our  disgrace  in  having  be- 
longed to  him?  He  would  not  have  put  his  hands  to- 
gether, living,  to  do  a good  turn;  and  will  you  blight  the 
prospects  of  your  life  to  find  out  the  manner  of  his  dying? 
Be  content,  as  I am,  to  thank  God  that  he  is  dead.  And 
it  is  well  we  spoke  of  this,  for  the  Eaymonds  and  Lesters 
may  question  you.  If  they  do,  remember  that  1 never 
spoke  of  him  to  you.  You  know  nothing  of  your  father, 
now  or  never,  except  that  he  is  dead."^^ 

This  was  the  girTs  last  lesson  before  parting,  and  again 
its  effect  was  to  crush  a natural  tenderness  and  harden  her 
young  heart. 

This  was  the  man  my  mother  spoiled  her  life  for,'’^  she 
thought.  If  ever  I love  a man  I shall  despise  myself. 
No;  wealth  for  me,  not  love  I 

And  she  thought  no  more  of  revenging  her  father^s  vio- 


36 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


lent  death;  and  Jane  Craven^s  ])arting  warning:  ‘‘Ee- 
membei%  he  is  dead!^^  spoken  meaningly^  as  the  train 
moved  out  of  the  depot,  was  quite  unnecessary  to  remind 
her  of  her  own  interests. 

So  the  girl  went  forth  to  meet  the  fate  she  knew  not  of, 
and  the  love  she  mocked  at  and  despised,  and  the  mother 
returned,  with  heavy  heart  and  step,  to  the  home  that 
must  now  appear  so  lonely. 

Somehow  she  hated  to  go  into  the  house,  so  turned  aside 
at  the  entrance  to  the  lane,  and  was  walking  toward  the 
woods  when  a neighbor  met  her. 

Oh,  there^s  been  a man  inquiring  for  you,^^  said  this 
woman,  ‘‘  and  I showed  him  the  way  to  your  cottage. 
He^ll  be  in  the  garden  now  most  likely.  So  Jane  turned 
back  again  to  see. 

He  was  in  the  garden  now.  A tall,  strongly  built, 
swarthy  fellow  who,  lounging  heavily,  with  his  back 
against  the  porch,  to  wait,  had  thrust  a pipe  between  his 
lips,  and  pulled  a slouched  hat  low  down  upon  his  brow  to 
keep  the  clear,  bright,  wintery  sunshine  out  of  his  eyes. 
The  same  sunshine  was  shining  into  Janets  eyes  too,  or 
perhaps  a tear  shed  at  that  recent  parting  blinded  her;  but 
she  could  not  think  where  she  had  seen  this  man  before, 
though  something  about  him  seemed  to  her  familiar.  She 
wished  she  had  not  had  to  see  him  now,  however,  when  she 
so  much  desired  to  be  alone,  and  so  she  spoke  to  him 
sharply: 

“ I hear  you  were  asking  for  me,  sir.  What  is  your 
business  with  me?^^ 

The  man  sprung  to  his  feet  at  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
and  stared  at  her  for  a minute  from  under  his  hat  with  a 
muttered  oath  of  surprise. 

‘‘  By ! how  changed  she  heard  him  mutter,  and 

an  awful  trembling  seized  her  at  the  tone. 

“Who  are  you?  oh,  who  are  you?^^  she  gasped,  scarce 
knowing  what  she  said. 


HIS  COUHTKY  COUSIN.  37 

lie  flung  the  hat  aside,  and  her  own  groan  of  anguish 
and  horror  answered  her. 

“ Great  God!  Is  it  you?  Not  dead — not  dead  in  spite 
of  all!  You— Itoy  Craven !^^ 


CHAPTEK  VII. 
already! 

A CARRIAGE  was  quickly  procured,  and  after  driving 
round  to  the  baggage-room  for  Mercy^s  trunk — a very 
modest  affair  indeed,  at  which  Polly  Lester  afterward 
turned  up  her  nose  contemptuously,  the  two  cousins  start- 
ed off  for  Seventeenth  Street. 

I call  them  cousins,  chiefly  because  Steve  was  in 
such  haste  to  claim  the  title,  which  really  belonged  to  him 
by  little  more  than  courtesy,  however,  for  Jane  Craven^s 
actual  relationship  to  the  Eaymoiids  was  probably  some 
dozen  times  removed.  To  call  them  “ sweethearts, even 
at  this  early  stage  of  their  acquaintance,  would  be  much 
nearer  to  the  truth,  for  already  Steve  had  forgotten  the 
pretty  face  and  wistful  eyes  that  were  watching  for  him  at 
this  very  moment — forgotten  that  the  world  contained  any 
other  woman  than  the  one  who  sat  smiling  by  his  side; 
while  she,  on  her  part,  was  conscious  of  a singular  interest 
in  this  stranger,  and  felt  her  cheeks  burn  as  a speculation 
arose  swiftly  in  her  mind  whether  this  might  be  that 
“younger  son, of  whom  Jane  Craven  had  spoken,  as 
being  “ also  well  to  do,  but  either  married  or  going  to 
be.  Something  like  a pang  smote  Mercy ^s  heart  at  that 
word  “ married.'’^ 

“ 1 hope  he  is  not!^^  she  confessed  to  her  own  soul.  “ If 
he  is  only  ‘ going  to  be,^  there  may  not  be  much  harm 
done.  He  shall  not,  if  / can  prevent  him.  Love  is  non- 
sense, of  course,  but  1 could  really  like  this  man,  and  since 
one  must  marry,  better  marry  one  who  is  agreeable  at 


38 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


least.  Since  yon  are  rich,  my  pleasant,  handsome  Cousin 
Steve,  who  knows  but  you  may  some  day  be  my  husband 

Meantime  Steve,  who,  wholly  unsuspicious  of  his  fair 
companion's  dreams,  would  nevertheless  have  desired  noth- 
in^i:  better  than  to  make  them  realities,  was  exerting  him- 
self to  please  her  and  make  her  forget  her  recent  danger 
and  alarm;  and  presently  had  succeeded  so  well  that  she 
had  been  laughing  heartily  at  his  description  of  the  simple 
little  country  girl  for  whom  she  had  been  looking  and 
waiting.  And  Steve  laughed  merrily  too,  as  he  thought  of 
the  astonishment  of  Mr.  Lester^s  household,  when,  in  a 
few  minutes^  time,  he  should  introduce  this  beauty  into 
their  midst. 

“ They  will  not  expect  a girl  like  you  any  more  than  I 
did,’^  he  told  her,  with  his  usual  frankness.  ‘‘  Polly — ha, 
ha,  ha!  it  makes  me  laugh!  Polly  spoke  of  you  as  ‘ a poor 
little  ignorant  country  girl,^  arriving  in  New  York  at 
night  and  alone,  and  perhaps  getting  frightened  and  lost. 
You  wouldnT  get  lost.  Cousin  Mercy;  and  you  were  not 
even  very  much  frightened  I think.  How  did  you  contrive 
to  hold  on  to  that  satchel  so  cleverly?^’  with  a glance  at  a 
small  black  leather  bag,  which  indeed  had  never  left  her 
hand  through  all  her  danger.  “ You  must  have  as  much 
nerve  and  pluck  as  you  have  beauty,  my  fair  cousin,  if  you 
actually  held  it  in  your  hand  all  the  time!^^ 

The  compliment  was  so  point-blank  and  outspoken  that 
it  would  have  been  offensive  to  many  women;  and  indeed 
might  have  been  so  to  this  woman  coming  from  any  other 
man.  But  this  man  had  saved  her  life  and  won  her  grati- 
tude; this  man  had  come  to  her  when  she  was  feeling  soli- 
tary, slighted,  sore  at  heart,  and  had  soothed  her  wounded 
jiride  and  cheered  her  loneliness,  and  reconciled  her  to  her 
new  circumstances  and  surroundings;  moreover,  there  was 
nothing  coarse  in  Stevens  outspoken  bluntness;  on  the 
contrary,  his  pleasant  voice,  winning  manner,  and  a cer- 
tain merry,  boyish  style  and  air,  made  him  extremely  lov- 


HIS  COU^^TRY  COUSIN. 


80 


able  and  pleasing.  ]>esiiles  wliiclu  Mercy  believed  him  to 
be  one  of  the  two  wealthy  brothers  whom  her  mother  had 
told  her  she  might  do  well  to  win.  For  all  these  reasons 
she  only  smiled  and  blushed  at  his  blunt  admiration,  and 
felt,  on  the  whole,  gratified  at  having  attracted  it.  And 
perha23S  there  was  another  reason  still,  if  one  could  pierce 
into  such  mysteries.  Perhaps*  into  every  woman’s  life 
some  man  comes  like  a fate;  and  Mercy,  all  unconsciously 
to  herself  and  him,  had  met  her  fate  in  Steve  liaymond. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  one  thing  is  certain:  that  these  two 
young  peof)le  on  their  very  first  acquaintance  pleased  each 
other  mightily.  The  drive  from  the  depot  to  Seventeenth 
Street  seemed  as  brief  as  pleasant  to  them,  though  both 
involuntarily  grew  silent  and  somewhat  grave  as  they 
neared  their  destination. 

Secretly  (for  neither  confided  the  feeling  to  the  other), 
they  were  both  feeling  rather  anxious  about  the  reception 
in  store  for  the  new-comer.  Mercy,  with  that  natural  anx- 
iety made  up  half  of  antagonism  and  half  of  fear  which  the 
“poor  relation  ” always  feels  on  approaching  richer  kin- 
dred; Steve,  with  a keen  recollection  of  his  sister’s  un- 
willingness to  receive  this  new  inmate  into  her  household, 
and  a presentiment  that  her  unusual  beauty  would  not  be 
likely  to  make  her  welcome  any  more  warm.’  Occupied 
with  these  thoughts,  silence  had  fallen  between  them  as  the 
carriage  drew  up  before  Mr.  Lester’s  house  in  Seventeenth 
Street. 

Truth  to  tell,  Polly  Lester  was  peeping  from  behind  the 
curtains,  and  let  them  fall  as  she  turned  away  on  hearing 
the  coachman’s  knock. 

“ She  mustn’t  see  us  watching,”  she  said  to  Ada,  half 
ashamed  of  her  own  curiosity.  “ It  might  make  her  think 
too  much  of  herself,  and  she  must  be  made  to  keep  her 
place;  1 don’t  expect  to  like  her.” 

A notion  in  which  Mrs.  Raymond  was  quick  to  coincide. 

But  kind-hearted  Ada  could  not  bear  that  the  stranger. 


40 


HIS  COUHTKY  COUSIH. 


just  coming  among  them — shy,  timid,  sore  of  heart  no 
doubt,  should  be  thus  harshly  prejudged;  she  looked  at 
the  two  ladies  reproachfully. 

“ 1 don^t  see  why  you  should  make  up  your  mind  to  dis- 
like her,  Polly, she  said,  gently.  “ She  may  be  very 
nice.  For  my  part  I feel  sorry  for  the  poor  lonely  girl, 
coming  to  those  who  have  no  welcome  to  give  her,  and  I 
mean  to  do  my  best  to  be  very  kind  to  her.  We  are  so 
near  of  an  age  that  perhaps  we  may  be  friends/^ 

“ And  when  you  and  Steve  get  married  she  can  come 
and  help  you  takeep  house  laughed  Polly,  careless  that 
she  brought  the  conscious  crimson  to  Ada^s  cheek.  “ All 
right,  my  dear,  I don^t  object;  all  1 say  is  that  1 don^t 
want  her.  There,  there, as  Ada  was  about  to  answer 
her;  “ doiiT  trouble  to  deny  that  you  and  Steve  are  sweet- 
hearts, because  1 prefer  to  believe  my  eyes;  and  besides, 
he  might  hear  you,  for  here  he  comes  and  Mercy  with 
him.^"" 

They  all  arose  as  the  door  opened,  and  Steve  entered, 
torn,  dirty,  and  disordered  in  dress,  but  radiant  with  pleas- 
ure. Adah’s  foreboding  heart  sunk  low  at  sight  of  his 
glowing  face. 

‘‘Here  she  is!^^  he  cried,  as  if  he  took  it  for  granted 
that  all  would  share  in  his  own  very  evident  pleasure. 
“ Here’s  Mercy!” 

And  he  drew  Mercy  Craven  into  the  room,  where  first  a 
low  murmur  and  then  a startled  silence  was  for  awhile  her 
only  greeting.  She  stood  in  their  midst  with  large,  in- 
quiring eyes  fixed  on  Polly’s  face,  very  silent,  very  pale; 
somewhat  reserved  and  proud,  as  one  who  feels  doubtful 
of  her  welcome;  attired  very  simply  and  plainly  indeed, 
but  oh,  so  beautiful! 

Ada  looked  from  the  dark,  proud,  lovely  face  to  Ste- 
phen’s eyes,  and  read  in  them  her  own  doom;  she  turned 
away  with  a sickening  sensation  at  her  heart. 

“ Already,”  she  thought;  “ already  she  has  supplanted 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


41 


me.  Already  he  forgets  iny  love,  my  hopes,  his  own  pro- 
fessions; I am  despised  and  cast  aside  for  Mercy^s  sake. 
Already 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

‘‘  WHICH  SHALL  WIN  HTM?'^ 

Polly  was  the  first  to  recover  herself  and  come  forward 
to  welcome  her  guest.  She  did  so  with  considerable  grace 
(under  the  circumstances),  but  not  cordially,  as  Mercy  was 
quick  to  feel.  Polly  took  the  pale  girl  by  the  hand  and 
led  her  to  a seat  beside  the  fire. 

“You  must  forgive  me,^^  she  said,  easily;  “I  was  so 
startled  at  the  sight  of  you;  you  are  iiqt  quite  like  the  ordi- 
nary type  of  country  girls.  Besides,  I thought  you  would 
look  like  your  mother,  but  you  do  not,  does  she,  Dick? 
This  is  my  husband,  Mr.  Lester,  my  dear. 

“ She  is  handsomer  than  her  mother  ever  was,^^  Mr. 
Lester  answered,  much  to  his  wife^s  secret  indignation. 
“You  are  welcome,  Mercy;  I don^t  wonder  that  you 
didnT  care  to  hide  yourself  in  a mountain  village  all  your 
life;  a girl  like  you  will  find  a better  fate  in  IMew  York. 
Polly,  my  love,  she  must  be  both  tired  and  hungry  after 
her  journey. 

Mercy  confessed  to  being  both,  but  nevertheless  Stevens 
torn  coat  and  lost  hat  had  to  be  accounted  for;  and  so  the 
story  of  her  danger  and  bravery,  and  his  prompt  aid  were 
told,  and  excited  general  admiration.  Mrs.  Raymond, 
however,  noticed  his  enthusiasm  with  a certain  uneasiness. 
The  almost  tender  glance  with  whicji  Mercy^s  splendid 
dark  eyes  lingered  on  him  while  he  spoke  did  not  escape 
her,  nor  the  wistful  expression  and  sudden  pallor  of  Ada^s 
usually  rosy  face.  The  prudent  little  mother — made  by 
stern  experience  worldly  wise — took  instant  alarm. 

“He  has  taken  a fancy  to  this  girl,^^  she  thought. 
“ For  her  sake,  if  the  folly  be  not  checked  at  once,  he  will 


42 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


throw  over  Ada^  the  sweet,  the  good,  who  loves  him.  And 
Ada  is  an  heiress,  while  Mercy,  like  himself,  is  penniless; 
such  a marriage  would  be  madness — they  must  be  kept 
apart.  Why  did  I allow  him  to  go  and  meet  her — Jane 
Craven^s  child — and  1 knowing  what  her  mother  is?  I 
will  go  home  at  once!^^ 

A resolution  which  she  put  into  immediate  execution, 
much  to  Steven’s  disgust,  since  her  going  home  necessitated 
his  accompanying  her. 

“ Mercy  must  be  tired,  and  you  have  preparations  to 
make,  of  course, she  said  to  Polly;  “ and  I am  not  very 
well,  so  we  will  leave  you.  Besides,  Steve  must  need  rest 
after  his  adventure;  and  I am  anxious  to  be  assured  that 
he  has  no  bones  broken.  I am  very  glad,  of  course,  that 
he  was  able  to  save  you.  Cousin  Mercy  (with  anything 
but  a cordial  or  friendly  glance  at  the  silently  observant 
girl),  “ neither  will  Ada,^"  turning  to  her  and  thus  skill- 
fully* dragging  her  into  the  question;  ‘‘neither  will  Ada 
regret  that  she  spared  him  to  do  so  good  a deed.  You  are 
to  come  to  us  to-morrow  for  the  whole  day,  rem ember, 
she  added  to  Ada;  “ and  I advise  you  to  come  along  now, 
and  let  Steve  and  me  see  you  home.^^ 

An  arrangement  which  (as  poor  Ada  gladly  acquiesced 
in  it)  screened  her  from  the  reproach  which  she  read  in 
her  son^s  eyes  and  on  his  indignant  brow,  and  which  would 
have  inevitably  fallen  upon  her  as  soon  as  Ada  was  safely, 
got  out  of  the  way,  had  she  not  anticipated  it  by  at  once 
breaking  into  earnest  reproaches  herself. 

“ I am  ashamed  of  you!^’  she  cried,  to  his  infinite  dis- 
comfiture and  dismay.  “ You  come  in  with  that  black- 
browed,  gypsy-looking  girl,  and  talk  to  her  and  of  her  as 
if  there  wasnH  another  woman  in  the  world,  while  your 
own  charming  sweetheart  is  standing  by  unnoticed,  evi- 
dently slighted  and  hurt.  There  never  was  a better, 
sweeter  girl  than  Ada  West,  and  better  and  wiser  men 
than  you  are,  niy  son,  might  and  would  be  proud  of  her 


ITIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


43 


affection.  My  heart  ached  to  see  the  wound  you  gave  her 
by  your  thoughtless  slight  to-day;  you  deserve  nothing  bet- 
ter than  to  lose  her. 

Steve  listened  like  one  stunned.  His  flirtation  with  Ada 
had  been  to  him  a very  pleasant  pastime,  to  which  he 
might  some  day  bind  himself  seriously,  or  from  which  he 
might  consider  himself  wholly  free.  To  have  it  spoken  of 
and  looked  upon  as  an  actual  engagement,  filled  him  with 
a sudden  and  strange  dismay;  strange,  because  only  a few 
hours  ago  he  would  not  have  cared  one  straw  about  it. 

‘‘I  donT  quite  understand  you,  mother,^^  he  said, 
gravely  and  anxiously.  ‘‘  You  speak  as  if  Ada  and  1 were 
actually  engaged.  It  is  not  so,  I assure  you;  I have  never 
said  one  serious  word  that  could  bind  me  to  her.^^ 

“ The  more  shame  for  you!’^  answered  the  little  mother 
quite  passionately  in  her  indignation.  “And  the  sooner 
you  do  speak  seriously  to  her,  the  better  for  your  own 
honor’s  sake.  Else  you  will  make  me  believe  you  that 
contemptible  creature — a male  flirt.  What?  you  trifle 
with  this  innocent  girl’s  heart,  you  seek  her  company, 
profess  to  admire  her,  win  her  young  affection,  com- 
promise her  in  the  eyes  of  the  world — (for  all  your  ac- 
quaintances look  upon  it  as  a match) — and  then  because 
your  fancy  changes  you  whistle  her  down  the  wind,  and 
shelter  yourself  behind  the  mean  excuse  that  you  have 
" never  said  anything  serious.’  Say  it  at  once  then.  Say 
what  you  have  given  her  the  right  to  expect  to  hear:  ask 
her  to  be  your  wife!” 

Steve  answered  rather  sullenly: 

“ I don’t  know  about  ‘ giving  her  the  right,’  mother. 
We  have  flirted  together,  Ada  and  I,  and  that’s  about  all. 
She  may  have  been  no  more  in  earnest  than  I was;  I hope 
she  hasn’t!” 

“ You  know  better!”  answered  Mrs.  Eaymond,  keeping 
him  to  actual  facts  with  a resolution  that  would  not  be  put 
aside.  “You  know  she  loves  you.  Yesterday  it  pleased 


44 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN'. 


your  vanity  well  enough  to  see  this  good  and  pretty  creat- 
ure so  fond  of  you;  and  I hoped  that  her  real  love  and 
actual  worth  would,  when  she  became  your  wife,  win  such 
a return  as  they  merit.  I hope  so  still.  You  are  bound 
in  honor  to  propose  to  her.  You  have  given  her  cause  to 
expect  it.  No  man  has  a right  to  trifle  with  the  heart  of  a 
pure  woman,  and  then  wonder  at  her  love  for  him,  as  if  he 
had  assumed  her  to  be  a worthless  coquette.  A woman^'s 
love  is  a sacred  and  serious  thing,  and  the  man  who  wrecks 
it — whether  in  deliberate  villainy  or  in  thoughtless  vanity 
— too  often  wrecks  her  whole  life.  You  must  not  commit 
this  crime.  You  must  propose  to  Ada  at  once.'’^ 

Her  earnestness  overpowered  the  young  man;  perhaps 
the  truth  of  her  words  convinced  him  too,  yet  he  made  one 
struggle  more. 

“ I have  heard  you  say  that  only  love  makes  marriage 
really  sacred, he  said,  earnestly.  I do  not  love  Ada  so 
that  I desire  her  for  the  partner  of  my  life.  Have  I then 
the  right  to  marry  her?^^ 

But  Mrs.  Raymond  was  not  to  be  entrapped  so;  she 
stuck  to  truths  and  facts  persistently. 

If  you  could  not  love  her  enough  to  marry  her  you 
had  no  right  to  seek  and  win  her  love,^^  she  said.  “ Hav 
ing  done  this  cruel  wrong  it  is  your  duty  to  abide  the  con- 
sequences. They  will  not  be  very  terrible.  No  man 
whose  heart  was  free  could  long  withhold  true  love  from 
such  a wife  as  Ada  will  be;  and  your  heart  is  free,  of 
course,  my  son?  I need  not  ask  you. 

He  did  not  answer  that.  He  could  not.  The  question 
puzzled  his  own  soul.  Was  his  heart  free?  Uj)  before  his 
mental  vision  rose  a queenly  form,  a darkly  splendid  face, 
a pair  of  star-like  eyes  whose  gaze  inthralled  him;  did  he 
love  their  owner?  He  shook  himself  and  sighed  impatient- 
ly and  could  not  tell. 

Mrs.  Raymond,  glancing  sideways  at  his  brooding  face, 
forbore  to  urge  him  for  an  answer.  She  saw  that  Mercy 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIH. 


4r> 

had  charmed  him,  but  she  did  not  believe  it  to  be  a real 
love.  Otherwise,  and  had  he  owned  it  to  her,  she  was 
much  too  sensible  and  honest  not  to  have  acknowledged 
that  “ two  wrongs  could  never  make  a right,^^  and  that  to 
offer  his  hand  to  Ada  while  Mercy  held  his  heart,  would 
only  be  adding  a second  and  worse  injury  to  the  first  one. 

‘‘  But  it  is  only  a fancy,^^  she  reassured  herself.  “ Once 
let  Ada  be  his  wife  and  he  will  wonder  how  he  could  ever 
have  admired  that  gypsy 

“ That  gypsy, meantime,  had  had  some  supper,  and 
pleading  fatigue,  retired  to  the  room  which  Mrs.  Lester^s 
hospitality  had  provided  for  her.  She  did  not,  however, 
retire  to  rest  immediately,  but  sat  down  awhile  to  think. 

“ 1 am  not  welcome  here,’^  she  muttered  to  herself. 

Ah,  well!  if  every  man/’s  hand  be  against  me,  so  shall  my 
hand  be  against  every  man.  Steve  likes  me — Steve  will 
love  me  very  soon — and  I like  Steve.  That  pretty  girl  is 
my  rival,  though,  and  she  has  his  mother  on  her  side,  and 
the  mother  has  taken  fright  at  me  already.  She  doesnT 
want  her  wealthy  son  to  marry  a penniless  bride.  We 
must  do  our  love-making  secretly,  I foresee,  if  I am  to  win 
him — and  mother  said  I might  be  content  to  win  him. 
Well,  ril  try.  My  pretty  rival — she  is  pretty! — and  I will 
fight  for  him,  and  let  Fate  decide  between  us-  I wonder 
if  they  are  actually  engaged?  1 hope  not."^^ 

And  so,  wondering  and  tired  out,  she  fell  asleep,  whis- 
pering to  herself  that  Stephen  was  a pretty  name,  and  re- 
peating it  softly,  with  a smile.  But  she  had  forgotten  now 
that  line  of  Tennyson \s  which  had  sounded  in  her  soul  when 
first  she  looked  up  into  Stephen’s  face — that  line  which, 
reminding  her  of  fair  Elaine’s  fate,  seemed  sorrowfully 
forewarning  her  of  her  own.  Was  poor  Elaine  herself  as 
ignorant,  1 wonder,  when  first  the  fatal  spell  of  Lance- 
lot’s eyes  fell  on  her — when  she,  an  innocent  and  happy 
soul,  looked  up  into  the  brave  knight’s  face,  ‘‘  and  loved 
him  with  the  love  that  was  her  doom?” 


46 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN  JANE  craven's  GARDEN. 

There  was  in  the  cottage  garden  an  old^  wide-spreading 
cherry-tree,  with  a rustic  seat  under  its  branches — those 
branches  so  softly,  sweetly  pink  and  white  with  bloom  in 
s LI  miner-time,  so  stiff  and  hard  and  hoar  with  white  frost 
now,  they  might  have  served  as  an  emblem  of  Jane's  life, 
in  the  first  beautiful  promise  of  its  spring,  and  now  in  its 
wintery  blighting.  Upon  this  rustic  seat  the  woman  sunk, 
her  limbs  refusing  to  support  her,  and  her  heart  in  her 
bosom  felt  as  cold  as  the  snow  beneath  her  feet,  and  her 
face  looked  like  the  ashen-gray  face  of  the  dead.  Even  the 
man  who  watched  her,  rough  and  hard  and  callous  as  he 
was,  felt  a passing  pang  of  pity  for  her  distress,  and  soft- 
ened his  harsh  tones  as  he  addressed  her. 

“I've  startled  you,"  said  he.  “ Well,  that's  natural. 
Of  course  you  thought  me  dead.  But  1 ain't  going  to 
harm  you."  Then,  pausing  for  some  word  of  answer  and 
receiving  none,  but  seeing  that  she  still  stared  at  him  in 
silent  horror,  he  added,  more  impatiently:  “ Come,  come! 
you  didn't  use  to  be  so  nervous.  Your  face  looks  just  like 
death.  Get  up  and  let  me  help  you  into  the  house  and  out 
of  the  cold,  for  God's  sake!" 

And  he  held  out  a hand  as  if  to  raise  her;  but  she,  re- 
covering herself  a little  and  shrinking  away  from  him, 
with  a gesture  of  hatred  and  disgust,  waved  him  back: 

“ Don't  touch  me!"  she  cried,  earnestly,  in  low,  hoarse 
tones  of  strong  excitement.  “ And  understand  that  what- 
ever you  have  to  say  to  me  must  be  said  here.  Fourteen 
years  ago — isn't  it? — fourteen  years  ago  since  1 said  and 
swore  that  the  same  roof  should  never  shelter  you  and  me 
again  together.  Never,  with  my  consent — not  for  one 
single  hour.  Say  what  you've  come  to  say,  here  and  now, 
and  then  go  your  way  again  and  leave  me." 


HIS  COUHTllY  COUSIN. 


47 


Sho  drew  herself  up  closer  to  the  tree  as  she  spoke^  and 
sat  up  erect,  though  trembling  with  jmssionate  excitement. 
Koy  Craven  regarded  her  with  an  evil  scowl;  all  that  was 
worst  in  his  bad  nature  roused  into  life  by  her  defiance. 

“ SoV^  he  said,  very  deliberately.  ‘‘This  is  the  wel- 
come you  give  your  husband,  is  it?  The  loving  husband 
whom  you  abandoned  after  robbing  him  of  his  child. 
IJonT  think  that  Tve  come  after  you,  you  Jezebel!  No; 
but  IVe  come  for  my  daughter.  She^s  a handsome  girl, 
the  people  hereabouts  tell  me — 

She  interrupted  him,  forgetting  her  horror  of  him  so  far 
as  to  lay  an  eager  hand  upon  his  arm. 

“ Stop!  Let  us  understand  each  other.  Have  you  told 
any  of  the  people  about  here  that  my  Mercy  is  your  child? 
Have  you?’^ 

He  hesitated  for  a moment.  He  wanted  to  frighten  her, 
but  her  imperative  tones  and  passionate  eyes  compelled  the 
truth.  Besides,  what  was  the  use  of  deceiving  her?  She 
could  ascertain  the  truth  from  the  neighbors,  so  he  an- 
swerM,  sullenly: 

“ Fve  told  no  one  anything  yet.  1 asked  where  you 
lived,  and  whether  your  daughter  was  with  you;  and  they 
told  me — you  know  what  gossips  country  people  are — that 
Mercy  Craven  was  such  a real  beauty  as  folks  don’t  often 
see,  and  might  take  her  jiick  for  a husband  if  she  would 
from  the  richest  men  in  the  place.’’  He  glanced  con- 
temptuously around  him  over  the  surrounding  hills  and 
woods  and  plains.  “ 1 shouldn’t  think  by  the  looks  of 
things  that  millionaires  were  lying  round  here  quite  as 
thick  as  flies  in  August,  and  my  daughter—if  she’s  half 
what  they  seem  to  say — ought  to  marry  a millionaire  and 
make  all  our  fortunes.  To  be  candid  with  you,  1 intend 
lier  to  make  mine,  at  any  rate.  I mean  to  take  her  to  San 
Francisco.  I’ve  a friend  there;  she  shall  be  seen  by  men 
that’ll  pay  for  beauty.  She  shall  marry  a millionaire  if 
she’ll  play  her  cards  well,  and  ride  in  her  carriage  with  her 


48 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


loving  papa  by  her  side.  What!  Youh^e  a woman  of  the  j 
world,  1 guess;  you  couldn't  wish  better  for  her  than  I'll 
do  by  her.  Where  is  she?" 

He  glanced  round  toward  the  house  with  that  question, 
as  if  he  expected  to  see  the  darkly  beautiful  face  that  had 
been  described  to  him  look  forth  from  one  of  the  windows. 
Jane  Craven  saw  the  action,  and  clasped  her  hands. 

“ She's  out  of  your  reach,  thank  God!"  she  cried,  with 
much  more  fervent  thanksgiving  than  was  usual  with  her. 

“ Fate  must  have  taken  pity  on  the  girl,  I think,  and 
moved  me  to  put  her  out  of  the  way  where  you  shall  never 
find  her!" 

She  sprung  up  from  her  seat  with  those  words,  and 
stood  up  to  confront  him.  Whether  the  consciousness  of 
Mercy’s  safety  gave  her  courage,  or  w^hether  her  fear  of 
him,  like  the  shock  of  his  unexpected  appearance,  was 
passing  away,  I can  not  tell,  but  all  her  old  spirit  and  tem- 
per seemed  to  have  suddenly  revived. 

She  spoke  in  tones  that,  though  cautious  and  low,  were 
firm  and  clear,  and  her  blue  eyes  flashed  hatred  and  scorn 
as  she  regarded  him. 

“ You  do  well  by  her!"  she  cried,  with  bitter  contempt. 

“ You,  who  would  have  robbed  her  of  the  miserable  pit. 
tance  on  which  1 have  supported  her;  you,  who  to-day 
would  sell  her  for  a price,  ay,  though  it  were  to  ruin  and 
dishonor,  if  you  could! 

“ I don't  forget  the  advice  you  gave  to  me  years  ago 
when  I was  a pretty  girl;  I know  you,  Hoy  Craven!  ‘ Men 
that  will  pay  for  beauty  ' forsooth.  God  forbid  that  my 
beautiful  girl  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  friends  of  yours- 
I've  placed  her  with  people  who  have  character  as  well  as 
wealth,  and  I’ve  told  her  all  your  story— who  and  what 
you  were — and  she  blushes  for  her  father  and  despises  him. 

“ Don’t  think  to  find  her  the  soft-hearted  girl  you  found 
me.  I've  made  her  hard  as  you  made  me  hard,  and  she 
wouldn't  hear  you.  Hear  you!"  she  added,  with  a sudden 


niS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


49 


recollection  striking  her.  AVhy  should  she?  Why  should 
1?  Who  and  what  are  you?  Mercy  knows  that  her  father 
is  dead — I have  taught  her  so.  I,  who  saw  him  dead,  and 
identified  him  as  he  lay  murdered! 

“Ha!^^  with  hashing  eyes  fixed  on  him,  and  finger 
pointed  accusingly  at  his  evil  face,  that  whitened  to  a 
ghastly  pallor  at  that  word — ‘‘  ha!  I say  murdered!  I 
identified  Eoy  Craven  by  his  linen  and  his  ring,  but  the 
features  I was  once  so  fond  of  had  been  beaten  out  of  all 
human  form  by  the  hand  of  a brutal  murderer.  Who  are 
you  that  dares  come  here  to  me  and  claim  to  be  my  hus- 
band? 

“ I swear  that  Eoy  Craven  is  dead  and  buried!  Make 
but  one  movement,  say  but  one  word  — her  voice  dropped 
to  a deep  and  threatening  tone — “ to  injure  my  child  or 
molest  me  in  any  way,  and  as  God  sees  me,  I will  denounce 
you  as  an  impostor!^’  She  threw  back  her  head  with  a de- 
fiant gesture,  and  looked  him  full  and  boldly  in  the  face. 

“And  not  that  alone,  she  went  on,  resolutely;  “you 
have  come  here  in  that  dead  man^s  name  to  intimidate  me 
— me  — drawing  herself  up  proudly — “ his  widow,  who 
stood  beside  his  corpse  so  lately,  and  paid  to  have  it  laid  in 
a decent  grave.  If  you  know  so  much  about  Eoy  Craven, 
may  be  you  can  tell  us  how  this  dead  man  died.  One 
word  from  you  to  trouble  mine  or  me,  and  I will  denounce 
you  as  his  murderer  !^^ 


CHAPTEE  X. 

AWKWARD  QUESTIONS. 

Her  intense  and  menacing  tones,  although  she  barely 
spoke  above  her  breath,  seemed  to  ring  so  clearly  through 
the  silent,  frosty  air  that  the  man  cast  an  involuntary 
glance  of  alarm  around  him,  and  came  a step  toward  her 
with  uplifted  hand,  as  if  to  silence  her.  All  his  bold  air  of 
braggadocio  had  departed,  however,  and  his  gesture  was 


50 


HIS  COUNTEY  COUSIN. 


one  of  entreaty  rather  than  menace.  He  had.  turned  pale, 
under  all  his  swarthy  color,  with  a ghastly,  sickly  pallor 
that  reached  his  very  lips,  which  were  parched  as  well  as 
trembling,  for  he  had  to  moisten  them  with  his  tongue 
before  he  could  speak;  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  cast  that 
frightened,  furtive  glance  around  once  more  behind  the 
tree,  behind  the  garden  hedge,  behind  and  around  the  lit- 
tle house  itself,  as  if  to  assure  himself  there  were  no  list- 
eners. 

Then  he  recovered  himself  a little,  and  tried  to  laugh, 
rubbing  his  white  lips  with  his  open  palm  the  while  as  well 
as  moistening  them. 

‘^You’re  a Tartar!'^  he  said,  with  a most  uneasy  at- 
tempt at  easiness.  ‘‘  It  donT  matter  much  what  you  say 
so  long  as  no  one^s  by  to  hear  you,  and  women  must  talk 
or  die,  they  say;  but  such  talk  as  that-^about  murder  and 
such  nonsense — isnT  pleasant,  even  in  jest,  it  it  was  over- 
heard. You  know  well  enough  that  I^m  Eoy  Craven. 
Why,  you  owned  to  it  when  you  saw  me  first. 

“Not  before  witnesses,^^  answered  Jane,  sitting  down 
again  beneath  the  tree,  quite^ self-possessed  and  cool,  now 
that  she  saw  her  advantage.  “ ‘ It  doesnT  much  matter 
what  I say, ^ you  know,^'’  giving  him  back  his  own  words 
with  some  of  her  own  venom  in  their  tone,  “ ‘ so  long  as 
no  oriels  by  to  hear  me.^  When  I speak  before  a witness 
you’ll  find  it  not  very  much  to  your  advantage,  I promise 
you.  And  as  to  speaking  in  jest,  donT  be  too  sure  of  that 
either.  If  you  are  Eoy  Craven,  as  you  claim,  how  came 
you  to  let  this  murdered  man  be  buried  in  your  name,  and 
how  came  he  to  wear  your  linen  and  your  ring?  Awk- 
ward questions  you’d  find  these,  my  man,  if  it  was  a mag- 
istrate that  asked  them!” 

He  did  not  answer  her.  He  was  silently  regarding  her 
with  a look  so  evil  that  it  might  have  struck  a chill  of  ter- 
ror to  any  woman’s  heart,  being  encountered  in  this  lone- 
ly place  from  a known  enemy.  But  it  did  not  frighten 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


51 


Jane;  she  answered  it  in  words  and  at  once^  coldly  and 
scornfully: 

“ YouM  like  to  send  me  after  the  dead  man^  to  ask 
those  questions  of  his  soul/^  she  said,  “ if  you  could  do  it 
safely.  I read  that  much  in  your  eyes.  But  it  can^t  be 
done,  unless  youh^e  willing  to  swing  for  it.  In  this  frosty, 
silent  country  air,  sound  carries  far,  and  one  scream  from 
me  would  bring  the  people  from  those  cottages.  Besides 
— she  laid  a firm  hand  on  her  bosom — ‘‘  living  so  much 
alone  as  I do,  I think  it  safest  to  go  armed,  and  IVe  a tiny 
pistol  here/^  pressing  the  hand  upon  her  breast,  “ that  is 
no  plaything,  I assure  you.  Best  not  provoke  me  to  show 
you  what  a markswoman  I have  grown.  You  know  of  old 
that  I can  take  my  own  part  if  you  put  me  to  it!^^ 

While  she  spoke — evidently  with  desperate  earnestness — 
his  look  of  hatred  and  menace  had  changed  to  one  of  sur- 
prise that  gradually  merged  into  actual  admiration.  He 
gave  a long,  low,  astonished  whistle  before  he  answered 
her. 

‘^This  is  my  wife  Jennie,  is  it?  Pretty  little,  pining, 
whining  Jane!  W^ell,  Pm — he  brought  his  hand  down 
on  his  thigh  with  a sounding  slap,  and  finished  the  sen- 
tence with  an  oath.  “ Did  I know  you  of  old?  No,  by 
the  Lord!  Not  for  the  woman  you  are!  If  I had,  a trifle 
of  money  should  never  have  parted  us.  And  could  you 
take  your  own  part  in  those  days?  Ay,  on  the  sly,  and  in 
secret,  and  by  running  away;  not  with  the  spunk  and  grit 
of  a man,  as  you  do  to-day,  though.  I believe  you  both 
could  and  would  shoot, me, with  an  amused  laugh,  ‘Mf  I 
provoked  you  to  it.  But  Pm  not  anxious  to.  I don^t 
want  to  vex  you  at  all.  Come  now,^^  with  a conciliatory 
air  and  tone,  ‘‘  we  two  are  the  parents  of  a handsome 
young  girl;  why  shouldn't  we  lay  our  heads  together  to 
benefit  her  and  ourselves?  Why  shouldn't  we  be  friends?’^ 

And  he  would  have  come  toward  her  with  those  words, 
but  she  waved  him  back  again. 


52 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


‘‘  I don^t  choose  my  friends  from  your  sort/^  she  said/ 
contemptuously.  “You  were  a fine  friend  to  me  fourteen 
years  ago,  were  }"ou  not?^^ 

He  laughed  uneasily. 

“ I don^t  know  as  I was  anything  else/^  he  said.  “ I 
never  meant  to  take  the  child  from  you;  no,  nor  the  money 
either.  You  were  a silly  girl,  that  knew  no  better  than 
take  a man  at  his  word,  let  him  be  ever  so  angry  and 
hasty.  And  youVe  borne  me  malice  all  these  years  for 
another  idle  word  too  that  was  no  more  in  earnest  than  the 
other.  What  if  1 did  tell  you  that  such  a pretty  girl  as 
you  were  need  never  want  for  money  so  long  as  men  were 
flush  of  dollars  and  short  of  brains.  It  was  a rough,  gypsy 
joke  of  mine,  no  more.  You  didiiH  take  the  hint  I gave, 
so  it  did  no  harm.  Besides, the  look  of  unpleasant  ad- 
miration deepened  in  his  eyes,  “ besides,  1 was  young,  and 
a fool  myself  too  in  those  days.  I shouldn’t  say  so  now. 
Try  me  again,  Jane.” 

He  held  out  his  brown  hands  to  her,  but  did  not  venture 
near. 

“ Whatever  you’ve  lost  of  beauty  and  youth  you’ve 
gained  in  pluck  and  good  sense;  and  I wouldn’t  wish  for  a 
smarter,  better  partner.  Come.  You’ve  had  this  girl  of 
ours  on  your  own  hands  all  ypur  life,  now  let  me  share  the 
task  and  show  you  where  and  how  to  turn  her  beauty  to 
profit  for  us  all.  For  us  all,  mind,”  very  earnestly  as  he 
met  her  coldly  thoughtful  and  half-contemptuous  glance. 
“ It’s  no  more  for  my  own  or  your  profit  I’m  planning 
than  for  hers.  Come,  give  a man  credit  for  feeling  a little 
interest  in  his  own  child.  I used  to  be  fond  of  her,  you 
know,  when  she  was  a little  one.  I’ve  got  a plan  for  her 
that’ll  make  her  rich,  I tell  you.  Let’s  be  friends  then, 
for  Mercy’s  sake?” 

And  again  he  would  have  come  toward  her,  and  again 
she  kept  him  off  with  outstretched  hands  and  coldly  scorn- 
ful eyes. 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


53 


“ Keep  your  distance/^  she  said,  quietly.  Fm  not  a 
girl  to  believe  all  a man  says,  now,  remember.  I give 
you  credit  for  ‘ a little  interest  ^ in  your  child,  very  little, 
and  a good  deal  of  interest  in  yourself  at  the  same  time; 
and  ril  hear  what  are  these  precious  plans  of  yours  con- 
cerning her.  But  first,  and  before  we  go  any  further,  1^11 
hear  something  else.  If  you’re  Eoy  Craven,  where  have 
you  been  and  what  has  been  your  life  for  these  fourteen 
years?  If  you’re  Eoy  Craven,  who  and  what  was  the  man 
whom  I saw  dead,  and  whose  body  lies  buried  at  my  ex- 
pense under  your  name,  wearing  your  linen  shirt,  and  upon 
his  finger  your  own  dead  mother’s  ancient  gypsy  ring?” 


CHAPTEE  XL 

ROY’S  STORY". 

Her  blue  eyes,  hard  and  clear  as  polished  steel  and  cold 
as  if  they  had  stolen  their  light  from  the  surrounding 
snow,  were  fixed  on  his  as  if  to  read  his  soul. 

He  could  not  get  away  from  them.  He  stood  silent, 
shifting  uneasily  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  with  bent 
head  and  half-downcast  eyes;  but  still  glancing  up  through 
long,  black,  gypsy  lashes  to  meet  that  accusing  gaze. 

Jane  waited  with  evident  impatience  for  his  answer, 
and  receiving  none,  spoke  again. 

Who  was  the  man?”  she  demanded,  sternly.  “ You 
need  not  fear  to  answer  me  when  none  are  by  to  hear  you. 
Who  was  the  man  I buried?  How  came  he  by  your  clothes 
and  by  his  death?  Did  you  — she  came  a little  closer, 
and  still  looking  straight  into  his  eyes  whispered  the  next 
words  low— “ did  you  kill  him?’^ 

But  low  as  the  whisper  was  it  terrified  him.  He  sprung 
toward  her,  and  before  she  guessed  his  purpose,  laid  a 
heavy,  coai^e  brown  hand  upon  her  mouth. 

“ Shut  up,  confound  }"ou!  Are  you  mad?”  he  growled. 


54 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


with  a muttered  curse  and  a fearful  look  around  him. 

Are  you  mad?^^ 

Jane  sprung  to  her  feet,  and  struck  the  heavy  hand 
away  contemptuously. 

‘‘You  coward!’^  she  said,  deliberately,  “what  are  you 
afraid  of?  No  one  is  near  enough  to  hear  us  speak,  unless 
we  raise  our  voices;  nor  do  I wish  to  harm  you,  so  you  let 
me  alone.  If  you^re  Eoy  Craven,  IVe  no  desire  to  see  my 
child^s  father  hung,  however  well  he  may  deserve  it;  and 
if,  on  the  other  hand,  you  are  the  villain  that  killed  him,  I 
don’t  consider  that  your  crime  did  me  any  bad  turn;  I had 
no  cause  to  mourn  my  husband^s  loss,  you  see.  Sit  down 
there  — she  pointed  to  the  stump  of  an  old  tree  close  by, 
while  she  herself  resumed  her  rustic  seat — “ and  answer 
my  questions  quietly,  and  don’t  use  your  hands  again,  as 
you’ve  just  done,  or  some  of  the  neighbors  will  see  you 
and  come  to  my  aid.”  She  laughed  coldly  as  she  said 
that.  “ We  don’t  want  their  company,  I guess.  Now  ” 
— with  a look  and  tone  of  command,  which  he  instinctively 
and  unconsciously  obeyed — “ who  was  the  man  I buried?” 

“ Black  Ned,  my  cousin,”  he  answered,  sullenly; you 
remember  him  well  enough.  We  were  as  like  as  two  2ieas, 
always;  and  when  he — when  he  ” — it  was  as  if  something 
stuck  in  his  throat  just  there,  he  paused  so  long — “ when 
he  died” — his  handsome,  shifty  eyes  roved  around  and 
away  from  Jane’s,  meeting  a nod  from  her  and  a mean- 
ing smile — “ when  he  died — having  some  things  o’  mine 
upon  him  by  chance — I thought  to  let  the  mistake  go,  on 
the  hope  of  finding  you.  A trap,  you’ll  say;  but  I swear 
to  you  I set  it  accidentally — though  ” — with  a dark  smile 
— “ it  has  done  better  than  a carefully  laid  one  might,  in 
snaring  the  game  1 wanted,  and  that  game  was  you, 
Jane” — assuming  a lighter  tone — “and  at  last  I’ve  got 
you!” 

If  he  really  thought  he  had  got  her,  however,  he  made 
no  attempt  to  touch  or  take  her— probably  warned  by  her 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


55 


thoughtfully  brooding  eyes  and  frowning  face  to  be  chary 
of  i)rossing  his  claims.  Such  as  they  were,  Janets  next 
words  quietly  ignored  them. 

‘‘  So  it  was  Ned,  was  it? — no  wonder  I thought  him  like 
you!  And  Ned  is  dead? — well,  the  rest  of  mankind  are 
better  for  his  death,  any  way.  Now,  who  killed  him?^^ 

At  that  question  all  his  heavy  sullenness  returned,  and 
his  eyes,  that  had  been  fixed  on  hers,  began  to  rove  around 
again. 

‘‘How  the  devil  should  I know  who  killed  liim?^^  he 
answered,  passionately.  “ I don^t  know  that  anybody 
killed  him  at  all.  He  was  drunk  when  I saw  him  last, 
and — and  afterward  they  found  him  in  the  river.  His 
face  may  have  beaten  against  boats  or  stones,  or  perhaps 
the  fishes— 

Jane  interrupted  him  sharply. 

“Did  you  go  to  look  at  him  after  he  was  dead?^^  she 
asked. 

“ Me  — with  a look  of  terror— “ not  likely!— what  do 

you  suppose  Fd  want  to  look  at  a horrible  thing  like  that 
for?  Most  likely  he  was — 

She  interrupted  him  again,  just  as  before. 

“How  do  you  know  his  face  was  crushed  and  spoiled, 
then?  How  do  you  know  he  was  a horrible  thing  to  see? 
There,  there  — as  he  first  shrunk  and  then  turned  on  her 
a face  of  livid  whiteness — “ liavenT  I told  you  1 wish  you 
no  harm?  Why  are  you  afraid  of  me?  I hated  Ned,  you 
know — but  1^11  ask  no  more  about  his  death.  The  one 
thing  I must  know,  and  will  know,  is  this:  how  came  your 
shirt  and  ring  upon  him?’^ 

He  answered  that  with  an  air  of  relief,  as  if  reassured  by 
her  words  and  manner. 

“ Very  simply  and  naturally.  Ned  and  I had  been  sort 
of  partners  for  years  after  you  left.  AVe  traveled  together, 
playing  a sharp  game  and  living  on  our  wits,  sometimes 
well,  sometimes  ill,  according  as  the  luck  went  with  us. 


56 


HIS  COUHTKY  COUSIN. 


One  while  we  had  a traveling  show,  another  we  kept  a 
gambling  place,  and  there  trouble  came  and  we  separated. 
I hadiiH  seen  him  for  a long  time  before  that  last  day  we 
met.  I^d  been  ^most  everywhere  in  the  meantime;  suffer- 
ing my  share,  you  can  bet,  and  finally  had  scraped  a few 
dollars  together,  no  matter  how.  He  hadn’t  a red.  Not 
a red  cent  had  Ned,  nor  scarcely  a rag  to  cover  him,  and 
hungry  into  the  bargain.  Well,  1 took  him  to  my  room 
and  gs^ve  him  a better  coat  than  his  own,  and  a clean  shirt 
to  make  him  comfortable,  do  you  see?” 

He  paused  for  her  answer.  Jane,  leaning  an  elbow  on 
her  knee  and  supporting  her  chin  in  her  hand,  nodded 
understandingly. 

“I  see,”  said  she,  quietly.  “I  believe  you’re  telling 
truth  so  far.  Go  on!” 

‘‘  There  ain’t  much  more  to  tell,”  answered  the  man, 
growing  uneasy  again.  ‘‘  1 clothed  him  and  took  him  out 
for  a feed,  and  then  we  came  back  to  my  room  for  a talk* 
He  soon  found  out  1 had  a little  money,  and  was  eager  to 
have  me  start  the  gambling-house  again.  He  boasted  how 
skillful  he’d  got  to  be  at  cards,  and  that  led  to  us  playing 
a game  or  two.  You  know  what  a hold  the  cursed  things 
have  on  me.  So  did  he.  Luck  was  with  him  from  the 
first,  or  else  he  cheated  so  cunningly  that  the  devil  himself 
couldn’t  have  caught  him  at  it,  but  he  very  soon* broke  my 
little  pile  and  cleaned  me  out.  Cleaned  me  out  he  did!” 
repeated  the  gambler,  excitedly,  wiping  his  brows  and 
speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  his  frowning  listener. 
“ Left  me  without  a dollar,  curse  him!  When  he  got  the 
last,  I threw  him  the  canvas  bag  I’d  kept  them  in. 
‘ You’d  better  have  this  too,’  says  I;  and  he  took  it  with  a 
cool  laugh  and  a sneer,  and  tied  my  money  into  it,  and 
was  putting  it  in  his  pocket  when  a thought  seized  me — 
mother’s  ring!  That  would  turn  the  luck  surely.  1 
played  him  a last  game  for  the  little  old  ring  and  lost  it 
like  all  the  rest.” 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN, 


57 


He  had  grown  more  and  more  excited  as  he  talked.  It 
seemed  as  if  this  recalling  of  his  wrongs  had  made  him  ob- 
livious of  caution.  As  he  spoke  those  last  words,  liindng 
his  hat  upon  the  ground  before  him  with  much  the  same 
gesture  probabl^^  as  when  he  flung  his  last  dollar  down  be- 
fore Black  Ned,  he  raised  his  voice  so  high  that  Jane  put 
up  a warning  hand,  and  said  quickly  and  softly: 

‘'Hush!  Not  so  loud.  Speak  lower.  But  goon:  he 
took  the  ring?^^ 

“Ay,  did  he,  curse  him!  and  got  up  to  go,  knowing 
that  he  was  leaving  me  without  a dollar.  There  was  no 
talk  of  partnership  now,  mind  you,  now  when  he^d  ruined 
me.  I asked  him  to  give  me  back  the  ring  at  least, he 
added,  more  quickly.  “ Mother^s  ring— a worthless  thing 
in  itself,  but  it  troubled  me  to  miss  it  from  my  finger. 
He  refused.  He  jeered  at  me  for  my  bad  play,  as  he  tied 
my  money  into  the  canvas  bag  and  started  to  leave  me. 
He’d  been  drinking,”  he  went  on  after  another  pause, 
“ so  had  I;  and  my  blood  was  hot  against  him.  Was  I 
going  to  let  him  carry  that  money  ofi  and  leave  me  penni- 
less? No!  So  1 followed  him.” 

He  stopped  again,  wiping  his  brow,  on  which  a cold 
sweat  of  some  horrible  excitement  gathered,  and  glanced 
around  him. 

Jane  spoke,  cautiously  and  low:  “ You  took  the  money 
back.  There  was  no  money  found  upon  the  corpse — ■ 
upon  ”— she  corrected  herself,  keeping  close  watch  upon 
his  face  the  while — “ upon  the  murdered  man.^’ 

But  the  words  alarmed  him.  He  was  upon  his  guard 
again  in  an  instant. 

“ I don’t  know  anything  about  any  murdered  man,”  he 
said,  sullenly;  “ I’ve  told  you  that  before.  We  were  two 
drunken  men,  Ned  and  I,  as  we  went  out  into  the  street — 
a quiet  side-street  up-town  it  was,  and » the  hour  about  two 
in  the  morning.”  (Jane  made  a mental  comment  here: 
“ All  those  side-streets  up-town  terminated  at  the  river.”) 


58 


HTS  COUKTRY  COUSIN’. 


“We  went  out  quarreling^  and  we  quarreled  as  we  walked 
along,  I asking  him  for  the  ring  at  least,  and  he  jeering  at 
me.  Then  very  soon  we  went  from  words  to  blows,  and — 
and — He  came  to  a dead  pause  here,  looking  into  those 
cold,  clear  blue  eyes  that  held  his  own  so  unflinchingly. 
Then  he  looked  away  and  around,  and  burst  into  a short, 
hard  laugh.  “ We  went  from  words  to  blows,^^  he  went  on, 
recklessly,  “ as  we^d  often  done  before,  and  because  I was 
the  strongest  and  Ned  was  the  drunkest,  the  best  of  the  fight 
was  mine.  1 gave  him  a good  beating  and  took  my  money 
back,  and  came  away,  leaving  him  where  Td  knocked  him 
down,  lying  quiet  enough.  That  was  the  last  1 saw  of 
him.  Two  or  three  days  later  I heard  about  his  being 
picked  out  of  the  river.  I knew  it  must  be  him  by  the 
name  and  the  ring,  but  1 Eelt  no  call  to  bother  about  it. 
Besides,  1 waited  to  hear  if  the  report  of  Boy  Craven’s 
death  would  call  forth  any  sign  from  you.  You  know 
what  success  I had.  When  1 heard  that  his  wife  had 
claimed  him,  I was  afraid  for  awhile  to  make  inquiries  as 
to  where  you  lived,  for  fear  of  attracting  attention.  I got 
away  from  New  York,  and  kept  away  for  over  a year,  to 
let  inquiry  blow  over.  Ned  being  dead  and  decently 
buried,  it  was  best  to  let  him  rest,  you  know;  I ain’t  anx- 
ious to  claim  relationship.  So  now  you  know  all  about  it, 
Jane,  and  I hope  you’re  satisfied.  I’ve  got  a trifle  of 
money  still  left,  and  I’m  willing  to  use  it  for  your  interest 
and  the  girl’s,  and  help  you  both  to  fortune.  We  can  go 
to  San  Francisco,  take  another  name,  leave  all  the  past  be- 
hind us.  Come,  will  you  do  it?  Don’t  sit  there  silent, 
staring  at  me  as  if  you  saw  a ghost!  What  d’ye  say?” 

Jane  rose  up,  pale  and  stern,  confronting  him. 

“ It  would  be  no  wonder  if  1 did  see  a ghost,  indeed,” 
she  said,  solemnly — “the  ghost  of  this  man  whom  you 
murdered!” 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIK. 


59 


CHAPTER  XII. 

JANE  craven's  answer. 

Yes,  whom  you  murdered!"  Jane  went  on,  excitedl}^ 
“ Don't  imagine  that  your  lies  deceive  me,  sir.  The  man 
had  been  stabbed  in  the  side  and  gashed  in  the  throat,  and 
do  1 not  know  of  old  how  ready  with  the  knife  you  always 
were,  and  how  you  always  carried  one?  You  put  the 
corpse  into  the  river  after  you  had  beaten  the  face  so 
brutally  that  identification  was  almost  impossible.  Oh, 
you  villain!  Not  that  I care,"  she  added,  suddenly  recol- 
lecting herself  and  controlling  her  natural  horror. 
‘‘  Neither  Black  Ned  nor  Roy  Craven  was  anything  to 
me  but  enemies  whom  I am  glad  to  be  rid  of.  But,  as  the 
murderer  is  even  a greater  villain  than  the  murdered,  the 
sight  of  you  is  loathsome  to  me.  Go!"  She  stretched 
out  her  hand  with  a stern  dismissal.  “For  the  sake  of 
the  past  and  old  ties  I am  silent  and  you  are  safe;  but  go, 
and  never  let  me  see  your  evil  face  again!" 

But  the  man  she  had  to  deal  with  was  not  to  be  so  easily 
cowed.  He  first  stared  at  her  in  surprise,  then  scowled  in 
indignation,  then  laughed  out  aloud  in  bitter  contempt. 

“ Very  fine!"  said  he.  “ What  d'ye  take  me  for?  Go! 
Not  1,  indeed,  without  what  1 came  for.  As  for  you  " — 
with  a threatening  look — “ I doubt  you're  too  much  of  a 
spitfire  for  a man  to  live  with  in  peace.  I fear  you'd 
tempt  me  some  day  to  give  you  what  I gave  Black  Ned— a 
good  beating.  Think  what  you  please  about  what  else  1 
gave  him,  but  if  you're  wise,  hold  your  tongue.  It  ain't 
healthy  to  quarrel  with  me,  Jane.  My  enemies  ain't  long- 
lived.  Now,  understand  one  thing,  for  we've  talked  long 
enough:  I want  to  see  my  daughter,  Mercy  Craven.  Where 
is  she?" 

Jane  looked  him  calmly  in  the  face  and  folded  her  arms. 


60 


HIS  COUHTKY  COITSIH. 


“ I haven^t  the  slightest  idea^,  Black  Ned  Craven,  where 
your  daughter  may  be/^  she  answered,  with  the  utmost 
deliberation.  “ In  fact,  I assure  you  that,  until  you  men- 
tioned her  this  moment,  1 had  never  even  heard  that  Ned 
Craven  had  a daughter  at  all.'^^ 

At  that  his  tamper  gave  way.  He  came  toward  her  with 
a savage  oath  and  an  uplifted  hand;  but  she,  stepping  back 
quickly,  thrust  a firm  hand  into  her  bosom. 

“ Take  care!'^  was  all  that  she  said>  and  said  it  quietly, 
but  j)erhaps  her  looks  gave  him  a sufficient  warning;  at 
any  rate,  he  controlled  his  sudden  passion  and  let  his 
clinched  hand  fall  harmless  to  his  side. 

‘^What  d^ye  mean  by  addressing  me  as  Ned  Craven?^^ 
he  demanded,  fiercely.  “ You  know  well,  you  jade,  that 
I am  your  husband  Eoy!^^ 

‘‘  I know  nothing  of  the  kind,’^  answered  Jane,  throw- 
ing aside  her  cool,  indifferent  air,  though  she  still  retained 
her  self-possession,  and  spoke  with  passionate  intensity. 
‘‘  On  the  contrary,  I now  distinctly  recognize  you  as  Ned. 
My  husband  is  dead  and  buried.  Identified  by  me,  his 
wife,  and  wearing  his  own  clothes  marked  with  his  name, 
as  well  as  a ring  which  he  regarded  as  an  amulet,  and  was 
never  known  to  part  from.  Eoy  Craven  is  dead,  I tell 
you.  Disprove  it  — she  paused  and  regarded  him  for  a 
moment  with  a smile  of  mingled  mockery  and  triumph — 
“ disprove  it  if  you  can!’^ 

As  for  him,  it  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  min- 
gled emotions  with  which  he  watched  and  heard  her,  real- 
izing all  the  time  the  situation  in  which  he  stood,  and  his 
own  actual  powerlessness. 

‘‘  You  know  better!  you  know  better!’^  was  all  he  could 
say  at  first,  and  he  groaned  with  impotent  rage  at  his  own 
helplessness. 

Janets  smile  changed  to  an  open  laugh  of  triumph. 

‘‘  No  matter  what  I know,  or  what  we  know,^^  said  she, 

that  is  what  I say  and  shall  maintain  before  all  the 


HIS  COUHTKY  COUSIN. 


61 


world.  You  are  Ned  Craven,  and  my  husband  Roy  is 
dead.  More  than  that  — she  cast  a glance  around  her, 
speaking  with  a proud,  elated  manner,  though  still  in  the 
same  cautious  tone — “ by  your  own  account  you  were  the 
last  in  Roy  Crav^en^s  company.  By  your  own  account  you 
were  drinking  and  gambling  together  and  had  quarreled. 
By  your  own  confession  a struggle  took  place,  after  mid- 
night, in  one  of  those  quiet  side-streets  that  lead  down  to 
the  river^s  edge.  You  are  both  gypsies,  and  you  both 
carry  knives.  Roy  Craven  is  never  seen  alive  again,  but 
some  days  afterward  is  taken  out  of  the  river  stabbed  to 
death.  No  money  is  found  upon  the  corpse,  although 
some  people  must  have  known  that  he  had  money;  but  you 
have  doubtless  been  seen  by  many  since  with  his  money, 
in  his  canvas  bag,  in  your  possession.  Aha!’^  as  he  start- 
ed, and  his  pallor  increased,  “ an  ugly  sort  of  case  to  go 
into  court  with.  Well,  Ned  Craven,  take  this  warning 
from  me  in  time,  then.  The  world  is  wide;  choose  your 
road  in  it,  and  let  it  lie  as  far  apart  from  me  and  mine  as 
possible.  For,  as  God  sees  me,  if  ever  you  cross  my 
Mercy^s  path,  to  cast  the  stain  and  shadow  of  your  evil, 
shameful  life  on  hers,  if  ever  you  seek  me  again,  or  try  to 
fasten  any  claim  upon  me,  I,  on  my  part,  will  cast  aside 
all  ties  of  blood  that  ever  stood  between  us,  and,  knowing 
what  I know  of  you,  will  denounce  you  as  your  cousin^s 
murderer 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LOVERS  YOUNG  .DKEAM. 

M Y story  returns  to  Steve  Raymond  and  his  mother, 
whom  it  left,  somewhat  unceremoniously,  pursuing  their 
way  homeward  upon  the  night  of  Mercy  Craven^s  arrival 
in  New  York.  The  shrewd  little  woman  had  sense  enough 
to  let  the  conversation  drop  when  Steve  showed  an  inclina- 
tion to  lapse  into  somewhat  moody  silence,  and,  fully 


62 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


aware  that  she  had  come  out  of  the  argument  with  flying 
colors,  and  silenced,  if  not  convinced,  her  son,  forbore  to 
show  any  triumph  over  his  discomfiture.  All  the  same, 
she  was  secretly  joyful  with  a sense  of  Mercy^s  defeat,  and 
congratulated  herself  upon  having  so  quickly  detected,  and 
jirobably  routed,  a possibly  dangerous  enemy. 

“ She  would  have  won  him  from  Ada  if  1 hadn^t  spoken 
ill  time,^^  she  thought.  But  now— well,  I flatter  myself 

Vve  put  a spoke  into  that  wheel.  We  shall  see  what  fruit 
my  plain-speaking  bears  to-morrow. 

It  bore  the  very  fruit  she  most  desired.  Ada  came,  ac- 
cording to  promise,  looking  all  the  prettier  for  a slight 
shade  of  sadness  that  dimmed  the  usual  rosy  brightness  of 
her  beauty,  and  gave  her  (now  that  his  mother  had  given 
him  an  unmistakable  key  to  its  cause)  an  additional  charm 
of  interest  in  Steve’s  eyes.  She  was  no  longer  merely  the 
pretty  girl  with  whom  he  had  idly  flirted  and  amused  him- 
self. He  saw  in  her  the  woman  whose  serious  affections 
he  had  too  lightly  won,  and  whose  happiness  his  fickleness 
would  compromise.  ‘‘  Bound  to  her  in  honor,”  he  said  to 
himself,  repeating  his  mother’s  words,  and  could  not  help 
feeling  a thrill  of  natural  masculine  vanity  and  pleasure  as 
he  realized  what  a very  sweet  and  charming  creature  she 
was  to  be  bound  to,  after  all. 

So  amiable,  too.  He  had  known  her  all  his  life,  and 
when  had  he  heard  a bitter  word  from  those  sweet  lips,  or 
seen  the  placid  fairness  of  her  face  disfigured  by  the  black- 
ness of  a frown?  A little  pouting — which  was  rather  be- 
coming than  otherwise — and  a few  bright  tears;  these  gave 
sufficient  expression  to  the  slight  ruffling  of  a temper 
which  was  gentle  almost  to  a fault. 

And  she  loved  him.  What  wonder  that  his  heart  thrilled 
with  pride?  And  she  would  grieve,  “ perhaps  to  death,” 
whispered  vanity,  if  he  forsook  her  for  another.  What 
wonder  if  his  heart  grew  soft  with  pity  at  that  thought,  or 
if^  being  inexperienced  and  young,  and  wholly  ignorant  of 


HIS  COUNTIlY  rorSTN. 


his  own  heai’t-mysfcerics,  he  quite  mistook  that  tender  j^ity 
for  another  feeling,  and  believed,  for  the  j)resent  moment, 
that  he  loved? 

And  that  present  moment  was  quite  long  enough  to  see 
some  serious  mischief  done.  Under  the  influence  of  the 
feelings  to  which  Mrs.  Raymond's  “ plain  sjoeaking  had 
given  rise,  his  manner  to  Ada  became  tender,  his  eyes  held 
a new  expression,  his  voice  took  a softer  tone;  under  the 
influence  of  this  change  in  him,  the  girl  who  loved  him 
brightened  like  a flower  that  feels  the  reviving  power  of 
sun  and  rain.  The  jealous  doubts  and  fears  that  had  so 
pained  her  fled  away;  she  listened  to  him  like  one  in- 
thralled,  looked  up  adoringly  into  his  eyes,  and  cast  down 
her  own  with  smiles  and  blushes.  What  wonder  that  Mrs. 
Raymond,  having  discreetly  left  them  alone,  the  tempta- 
tion to  ask,  “ Do  you  love  me,  Ada?^^  grew  too  strong  to 
be  resisted,  or  that,  when  the  timidly  whispered,  answer- 
ing question  came,  “ Ah,  Steve!  but  do  you  love  7neV^  it 
won  the  answer  that  it  would  have  won  from  ninety-nine 
out  .of  every  hundred  men  of  his  age  and  circumstances: 
“ Yes,  1 do  love  you  dearly!  My  Ada!  My  little  wife!^^ 

And,  truly,  the  momentous  words  once  spoken,  the  sat- 
isfaction of  this  hitherto  rather  unwilling  and  doubting 
lover  seemed  scarcely  second  to  Ada^s  own.  She  was  so 
pretty,  so  brightly  radiant  with  love  and  happiness,  and 
yet  so  charmingly  modest  and  shy,  that  he  could  not  ad- 
mire her  sufficiently.  There  was  a decided  pleasure  in 
clasping  her  in  his  arms,  unrebuked,  and  kissing  the  sweet 
red  lips,  that  coyly  half  returned  and  half  shrunk  from 
the  pressure. 

To  think  that  this  lovely,  loving,  lovable  creature  was 
his  own  forever!  What  man  would  not  have  been  glad 
and  proud?  and  Steve  was  glad  and  proud  accordingly; 
satisfied  with  her,  satisfied  with  himself,  half  intoxicated 
with  gratified  vanity  and  natural  pleasure  in  his  sweet 
prize.  In  short,  his  experience  was  that  of  a man  who. 


64 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


being  strongly  attracted  by  two  different  women,  but  seri- 
ously loving  neither,  finds  himself  yielding  wholly  to  the 
fascinations  of  the  one,  while  the  other  is  out  of  the  way, 
and  honestly  thinks  (if  he  pauses  to  think  at  all)  that  this 
present  one  is  the  one.  that  charms  him,  and  that  his  tem- 
porary intoxication  of  the  senses  and  glamour  of  the  mind 
is,  what  it  is  not,  and  can  not  possibly  be,  the  strongest, 
highest,  deepest,  noblest,  saddest  of  all  human  experiences, 
namely,  the  master  passion — love. 

Stevens  love  was  only  a pretty  counterfeit,  but  this 
neither  he  nor  Ada  knew.  It  had  not  the  ring  of  the 
genuine  metal,  and  would  not  stand  wear  and  tear.  But 
how  should  he  or  Ada  suspect  this,  when,  like  a great 
many  other  pretty  things  in  this  age  of  shams,  it  looked  so 
exactly  like  the  real  thing  upon  the  surface  that  only  an 
expert  could  possibly  have  detected  the  fraud? 

Ada  and  Steve  were  not  experts  in  love,  but  simple 
novices,  and  so  the ‘‘ brummagem  gilt  passed  muster 
with  them  for  true  gold ; and  they  feasted  their  eyes  and 
hearts  upon  beautiful  Dead  Sea  fruit,  all  unsuspecting 
that  when  they  should  need  to  turn  to  it  for  real  nourish- 
ment, it  would  fill  their  longing  mouths  with  bitter  dust 
and  ashes,  being  worthless  and  rotten  at  the  core. 

Mrs.  Kayniond^s  happiness,  too,  weighed  for  a great  deal 
with  Steve.  That  dear  little  mother  who  had  so  de- 
voted her  life  and  hopes  to  him,  it  was  something  to  make 
her  so  glad.  And  how  glad  she  was,  to  be  sure!  It  was 
not  only  that  she  believed  her  son^s  happiness  secured  by  a 
marriage  with  Ada,  but  the  thought  of  Mercy  loomed  up 
before  her  mental  vision,  fraught  with  mysterious  evils 
and  fears — a dangerous  sunken  rock,  on  which  Steve’s 
bark  of  life  might  have  suffered  shipwreck  and  gone  down, 
had  not  her  own  foresight  and  Ada’s  charms  brought  it  to 
this  safe  matrimonial  anchorage. 

“ My  darling!”  she  said,  rapturously,  as  she  kissed  the 
blushing  girl.  “ My  heart’s  own  chosen  longed-for  daugh- 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


en 


ter!^^  and  then  as  she  placed  her  in  Steve’s  outstretched 
arms,  she  kissed  his  lips  and  whispered;  “ You  have  well 
repaid  me  for  a life’s  devotion;  this  pays  for  all!” 

So  Steve  felt  like  a hero,  and  Ada  was  a lovely  and 
haippy  fiancee,  and  Mrs.  Eaymond  glowed  with  joy  and  tri- 
umph. And  not  one  of  them  gave  a thought  to  or  took 
any  account  of  Mercy.  And  yet  she  was  a woman  whose 
lure  few  men  would  even  have  tried  to  resist,  and  she  had 
looked  with  favor  on  this  man,  and  whispered  to  herself: 

“ I will  try  to  win  him!” 

But  no  one  knew  of  that.  Steve  had  forgotten  her;  poor 
Steve!  it  was  the  first  forgetfulness  and  the  last!  Ada 
feared  her  no  longer.  Was  not  Steve  her  own  betrothed 
now?  Who  could  come  between  them?  Not  one  of  them 
thought  of  Mercy  Craven,  except  the  little  mother  (with 
that  one  passing  fancy  about  sunken  rocks  and  ship- 
wrecked lives),  and  she  only  thought  of  her  as  of  a danger 
escaped  and  an  enemy  routed,  and  triumphed  blissfully  in 
the  belief  that  she  had  defeated  her. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AWAKENING. 

These  three  mortals  dwelt  in  their  fool’s  paradise  all 
that  day,  believing  it  to  be  a true  Eden  as  all  mortals 
will.  They  really  were  blissfully  happy.  There  were  so 
many  things  to  think  and  talk  and  plan  about,  all  relat- 
ing to  the  one  pleasant  topic — the  marriage  that  was  soon 
to  be.  It  could  not  be  too  soon,  Mrs.  Raymond  declared; 
and  Steve  seconded  the  opinion  with  so  much  warmth  that 
it  did  quite  as  well  as  if  he  had  originated  it;  and  pretty 
Ada — though  she  uttered  not  a word — came  in  as  a warm 
and  willing  third,  with  her  beautiful  blushes  and  happy 
smiles  and  lovelit  eyes.  Why  not  be  married  in  the  com- 
ing spring?  Mrs.  Raymond  suggested.  But  Ada  timidly 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


OG 

tlionght,  with  diarming  visions  of  a trousseau  arising  be- 
fore her  mind,  that  she  really  could  not  be  ready  quite  so 
soon  as  that,  the  winter  being  now  so  nearly  over. 
Wouldn^t  the  summer  do?  she  asked,  with  shamed  red 
cheeks  that  Steve  kissed  immediately  by  way  of  answer. 
And  so  it  was  definitely  settled  that  the  early  summer 
should  see  them  made  man  and  wife,  so  that  they  could  go 
away  from  town  to  some  secluded  spot  together. 

Happy  hours  fly  fast,  they  say,  but  this  day,  even  when 
measured  by  commonplace  ordinary  time,  was  not  a long 
one.  Ada  had  some  domestic  business  which  demanded 
her  presence  home  at  an  early  hour— as  early  as  seven,  in 
fact.  (It  may  be  told  here  that  she  was  an  orphan  as  well 
as  an  heiress,  and  dwelt  under  the  care  and  chaperonage  of 
a widowed  aunt,  who  loved  her  dearly  enough  to  have 
spoiled  her  thoroughly,  if  the  sweet,  amiable,  child-like 
nature*  had  been  at  all  easy  to  spoil.)  And  who  but 
Steve  should  take  her  home,  of  course,  and  spend  one  hour 
in  converse  sweet  when  he  got  her  there,  and  almost 
another  hour  in  bidding  her  good-bye;  so  that  it  was  very 
nearly  nine  o^ clock  when  he  found  himself  alone  and  in 
the  street  again. 

Alone,  almost  for  the  first  time  that  day.  A sudden 
sense  of  waking  from  a dream  came  over  him — a sudden 
arousing  to  actual  reality — a feeling  of  sobering  down  after 
the  state  of  excitement  and  elation  in  which  he  had  passed 
the  day.  A keen  sense  of  his  own  individuality  struck 
him  strangely,  as  if  he  had  been  masquerading  in  some 
other  man’s  character,  and  had  quite  suddenly  resumed 
and  recollected  his  own.  Next  he  began  to  realize,  sober- 
ly, what  he  had  done — not  with  regret — by  no  means. 
Astonishment,  bewilderment  was  what  overpowered  him, 
as  if  he  had  been  startled  out  of  sleep  by  voices  crying  to 
him,  “ This  is  Steve  Eaymond — Steve  Kaymond,  going  to 
be  married  almost  directly!”  and  really  the  information 
stunned  him. 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN 


G7 


Presently  soinetliing  like  misgivings  began  to  mingle 
with  his  surprise — a doubt,  a fear,  a question. 

‘‘  Have  I been  too  hasty?^'’  he  asked  himself.  “ Ada  is 
a sweet  creature,  and  I love  her;  but  wouldiPt  it  have  been 
better  to  take  a little  more  time?  To  marry  so  soon!^^ 
Suddenly  he  quickened  his  pace.  ‘‘  ITl  take  a good  long 
walk,'’^  thought  he,  and  think  it  over.'’^ 
lie  was  at  this  moment  on  Broadway,  not  far  from 
Twenty  - third  Street.  The  night  being  fine,  and  the 
weather  having  somewhat  moderated  during  the  past 
twenty-four  hours,  the  brilliant  thoroughfare  was  gay  with 
groups  of  people  hurrying  merrily  along,  and  musical 
with  sleigh“bells  and  happy  laughter. 

There^s  too  much  noise  for  serious  thought  here,^^  was 
Stevens  conclusion;  ITl  take  a turn  or  two  in  the  quiet 
park."^^ 

So  he  started  to  cross  the  road  to  get  to  it;  but  he  had 
to  wait  a moment  on  the  curb  while  a pair  of  splendid 
sleighs,  almost  abreast,  and  with  their  gayly  caparisoned 
horses  striving  hard  to  get  the  lead,  went  dashing  past  so 
rapidly  that  they  made  him  catch  his  breath  and  start  back 
as  from  a sudden  danger. 

‘‘By  Jove!^^  said  he,  “ theyTe  going  the  jmce  in  ear- 
nest. If  any  one  slipped  and  fell  down  in  their  road  now 
there  wouldnT  be  much  chance  of  saving  them,  as  1 last 
night  saved  Mercy — Mercy — the  very  mention  of  her 
name  gave  him  a curious  shock  and  thrill  that  startled 
him — “ I had  forgotten  her,^^  he  muttered,  as  her  brill- 
iant dark  face  and  splendid  eyes  seemed  almost  to  rise  be- 
fore him,  filling  his  heart  with  a swift  and  strange  uneasi- 
ness— “beautiful,  charming  creature  that  she  is,  and  all 
day  long  1 have  forgotten  her!^^ 

It  was  an  offense  against  her  beauty  and  her  power, 
which  he  was  doomed  to  expiate  in  many  a weary,  bitter 
night  and  day  of  vain  and  sorrowful  remembering.  It 
was  an  offense  of  only  a few  hours’  duration^  but  its  expia- 


G8 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIH. 


tion  lasted  through  a life-time,  and  began  at  once;  for 
scarcely  had  he  gained  the  sidewalk  by  the  park  when  a 
cry  arrested  his  steps — alow,  sweet  little  cry  of  gladness  in 
a woman’s  voice — a sweet,  musical  voice  that  thrilled  his 
soul;  and  then  he  heard  his  own  name  spoken  joyfully. 

“ Steve!  It  is  Cousin  Steve!”  and  lo!  beautiful  Mercy 
Craven  was  standing  there  beside  him,  her  dark  eyes,  full 
of  a soft  and  tender  light,  raised  to  his  own,  while  her  two 
hands  clasped  on  his  arm  clung  to  him  joyfully. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

“the  OTHER  WOMAN.” 

“ Don’t  you  recognize  me?”  she  asked  him  with  some- 
thing of  surprise  in  her  look  and  tone,  “ or  is  it  that  you 
are  not  glad  to  see  me?” 

And  a shadow  of  reproach  stole  into  her  eyes,  and  her 
hands  loosened  their  hold,  and  would  have  fallen  from  his 
arm  had  not  Steve  caught  and  held  them  there. 

“ Eecognize  you!”  he  cried,  enthusiastically.  “Who 
that  had  once  seen  you  could  be  so  blind?  And  as  for 
being  glad  to  see  you!”  he  drew  one  of  the  little  hands 
close  within  his  arm  in  very  expressive  fashion.  “ Dear 
cousin!”  (Oh,  that  convenient  title  of  “cousin,”  how 
much  it  serves  at  once  to  express  and  hide!).  “ But  you 
startled  me  so!”  pursued  Steve,  his  spirits  rising  in  her 
presence  under  the  influence  of  a fascination  which  he 
felt  but  did  not  either  understand  or  realize.  “I  was 
thinking  of  you,  and  of  our  last  night’s  adventure,  when 
here  you  suddenly  appear  before  me  like  a — ” he  broke  off 
with  his  own  merry  laugh,  which  already  had  grown  sweet 
and  pleasant  to  her  ears.  “ 1 was  going  to  say  ‘ like  a 
ghost,’  ” said  he,  with  most  candid  admiration  looking  out 
of  his  handsome  eyes,  “ but  1 don’t  suppose  that  anything 
out  of  the  flesh  was  ever  half  so  beautiful  as  you  are.” 

Eather  a promising  speech  for  Ada’s  betrothed  husband. 


HTS  COUKTRY  COUSIN. 


C9 


was  it  not?  lUit  he  was  like  the  man  between  two  loves, 
and  this  time  the  other  woman  had  her  chance,  and  the 
first  was,  for  the  time  being,  forgotten.  Mercy  found  no 
fault  with  his  broad  compliment;  she  laughed  merrily, 
looking  coquettishly  up  into  his  eyes  the  while. 

“You  are  a flatterer!’"  she  said,  gayly.  “But  I am 
glad  to  see  you  all  the  same.  It  seems  fated  that  you 
slioidd  come  to  rny  rescue,  and  I am  in  trouble  again. 
Yes,""  nodding  merrily  to  the  question  in  his  eyes,  “I 
came  out  to  mail  a letter  about  an  hour  ago  and  took  the 
wrong  turn,  I suppose,  for  1 am  lost!""  She  laughed  out 
gayly  at  the  idea.  “ Lost  to-night,  like  a great  big  baby, 
and  last  night  nearly  run  over,  like  an  adventurous  child 
that  tries  to  cross  the  street  alone,  without  its  proper 
guardians  beside  it!  I have  reason  to  be  glad  of  this  meet- 
ing, you  see,  for  really  until  you  came  there  was  nothing 
to  laugh  at  in  being  alone  here  at  night.  But  you  will 
show  me  the  right  road  again.  And  of  course,""  she  add- 
ed, clinging  a little  more  closely  to  his  arm,  and  softening 
the  mischievous  expression  of  her  eyes  into  something  dan- 
gerously like  tenderness,  “ of  course  I am  very,  very  glad 
to  see  you  without  that  I should  be  a most  ungrateful 
creature  if  1 were  not  You  seem  the  only  real  friend  I 
have  in  this  strange  place,  dear  Cousin  Steve!"" 

And  again  the  seeming  harmless,  useful,  mischievous 
title  came  into  play,  and  bridged  over  all  safe  and  prudent 
distance  between  these  two  (so  lately  strangers),  most  con- 
veniently and  dangerously.  “Dear  Cousin  Steve  ""  drew 
Mercy’s  arm  a little  further  within  his  own,  and  held  her 
soft  hand  so  that  his  own  warm  and  ignorant  heart  beat  close 
against  it.  And  “ Dear  Cousin  Mercy  ""  made  no  objection 
to  the  pleasant  arrangement,  and  certainly  saw  no  harm  in 
it  whatever.  As,  indeed,  neither  should  1,  had  Steve  been 
free,  instead  of  standing,  as  we  know  he  stood,  between 
two  loves. 

“ I don"t  want  you  to  be  glad  to  see  me  just  out  of  grati- 


70 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIK. 


tude/^  said  Steve,  making  excellent  progress  for  a novice, 
and  really  oblivious,  for  the  moment>  of  any  other  woman 
in  the  world  except  the  one  beside  him.  I want  you  to 
like  me  for  my  own  sake,  as  I do  you.  Do  1 seem  like 
your  only  friend  in  this  strange  place?  Let  me  remain  so, 
Mercy. 

They  had  turned  into  the  park  while  speaking  and 
strolled  around;  but  neither  was  yet  sufficiently  far  gone 
in  love  to  resist  the  bitter  weather.  Moreover,  it  was  after 
nine  o^clock  and  Mercy  grew  uneasy. 

‘‘You  must  take  me  home  at  once,^’  she  said.  “ Mrs, 
Lester  will  wonder  at  my  absence.  Come.  You  see  I 
place  myself  entirely  under  your  protection.  Cousin 
Steve. 

And  she  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  once  more  with  that 
full  glance  that  so  intoxicated  him.  It  thrilled  him  now 
so  that  he  forgot  prudence  and  caught  her  hand  up  to  his 
lips,  leaving  a passionate  kiss  upon  it. 

“ 1 wish  you  were  under  my  protection  in  earnest  and 
for  life,^^  he  cried,  really  half  unconscious  v/hat  he  said. 

But  the  words  and  the  kiss  had  startled  her.  This  was 
going  so  much  further  than  she  had  counted  on  that  it 
threw  her  off  her  guard  of  prudence.  She  started  and 
caught  her  breath  and  blushed  rosy  red. 

“ Oh!^^  she  cried,  and  a whole  volume  of  expression  was 
in  that  single  word  and  the  look  that  accompanied  it. 
And  then,  with  a natural  thrill  of  triumph,  added  impul- 
sively: “ What  would  Miss  Ada  West  say  to  that,  1 won- 
der?’’ and  could  have  bitten  her  own  tongue  off  the  min- 
ute afterward;  for  Steve  started  and  let  go  her  hand  and 
turned  suddenly  quiet  and  grave — so  quiet  that  they  were 
close  to  Seventeenth  Street  before  another  word  passed  be- 
tween them,  for  he  was  saying  to  himself,  “ What  would 
Ada  say?”  and  recalling  the  obligations  which  he  had 
taken  upon  himself,  and  doubting,  doubting  more  strongly 
than  ever,  lest  he  had  taken  them  too  hastily. 


ms  COUNTRY  COUSIN.  71 

“ ]f  it  Imcl  been  Mercy,  now,^^  he  thought,  with  n glance 
at  the  beautiful  face,  clouded  now  and  slightly  droojiing, 
at  liis  side.  And  he  could  not  help  knowing  that  with 
Mercy  for  his  promised  bride  he  would  have  felt  that  mar- 
riage could  not  come  too  soon,  while  with  Ada,  poor,  lov- 
ing Ada,  would  it  not  have  been  bettor  to  take  time 
for  consideration?  Meantime,  if  indeed  she  could  have 
heard  these  hasty  words  or  read  his  thoughts,  “ What 
would  Ada  say?^^ 

And  Mercy  was  lamenting,  ay,  and  cursing— it  is  not 
too  strong  a word— cursing  her  own  foolish  tongue,  which 
had  recalled  to  him  the  memory  of  a rival. 

‘^He  is  engaged  to  her,  1 do  believe,^^  was  her  mental 
comment  on  his  changed  manner,  ‘‘  and  I have  actually 
played  the  advocate  for  her,  reminding  him  of  her  existence 
and  her  claims.  Can  she  love  him  as  I could  love — that 
pale,  pretty,  milk-and-water  girl— she  who  has  home, 
• wealpi,  friends,  while  I have  nothing?  What  if  I take 
him  from  her?  She  will  marry  some  one  else  and  be  just 
as  huppy;  but  I never  cared  and  never  shall  care  for  any 
one’ as  I could  care  for  Steve;  and  I could  make  him  love 
me,  I know  that.  Oh,  why  did  1 speak  of  her?^^ 

By  this  time  they  had  come  to  Seventeenth  Street,  and 
Mercy,  recognizing  the  locality,  stopped  short  and  spoke 
in  a saddened  tone  to  her  companion. 

“ I would  rather  go  in  alone, she  said;  “ and  besides, 
I may  have  interrupted  your  walk,  and  have  certainly 
given  you  trouble  enough.  Thanks  and  good-night. 
She  held  out  her  hand  and  let  her  eyes  look  into  his  slowly 
and  wistfull}^  “ Good-night  — there  was  a minute’s  hesi- 
tation here,  and  then,  low  and  sadly — “good -night. 
Cousin  Steve.” 

That  touched  him  strangely.  How  lonely  and  friendless 
she  was,  and  how  beautiful!  He  took  the  offered  hand 
and  held  it  gen tl}^ 


72 


HIS  COUKTEY  COUSHiT. 


“ I hope  you  are  not  angry  for  that  kiss,^’  he  said^  try- 
ing to  smile. 

She  looked  at  him  steadily  and  reproachfully. 

“ You  know  better/^  she  said,  with  a candor  that  some- 
how shamed  him.  Then,  with  a sudden  air  of  indiffer. 
ence:  “ We  are  cousins,  you  know;  even  my  lover  could 
scarcely  be  angry  that  my  cousin  should  kiss  my  hand,  so 
long  as  I keep  my  lips  for  him — 1 mean  for  my  lover. 

It  was  a cunning  speech.  It  implied  a rival  in  his  way 
as  well  as  one  in  hers,  and  fired  his  latent  jealousy.  He 
fiushed  and  laughed  uneasily. 

“ You  have  a lover,  then?^^  said  he. 

She  looked  full  at  him.  A proud  smile  of  conscious 
power  broke  over  her  face;  she  drew  herself  up  to  her  full 
height  and  stood,  in  the  white  light  of  the  wintery  moon, 
before  him,  tall  and  beautiful. 

‘‘Why,  Cousin  Steve,  what  do  you  think  probable?^^ 
said  she,  simply.  But  her  whole  figure  seemed  to  add,  ♦ 
plainly:  “ Am  I a woman  to  be  passed  by  and  go  unloved 
or  unwedded?’^ 

At  that  sight  of  her,  at  her  word  and  smile,  above  all, 
at  the  thought  of  a rival,  Steve  lost  his  head  once  more, 
and  this  time  completely.  ^ 

“ I think  that  1 am  your  lover!^^  he  cried,  passionately. 
“At  any  rate,  I know  that  I love  you,  Mercy,  ay,  as  I 
shall  love  no  other!^^  He  drew  her  closer  by  the  hand 
which  he  still  held.  It  was  night,  and  his  arm  stole  round 
her  waist.  “ Come  aside  a little, he  said,  and  they 
passed  into  the  shadows  of  the  houses.  Then  suddenly  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms.  “ Oh,  my  beautiful  darling,  give 
your  lips  to  me!^^  he  cried — “ to  none  but  me,  Mercy!  I 
had  rather  the  horses  had  trampled  you  to  death  last  night 
than  see  you  in  another  man^s  arms!  For  I love  you!  I 
love  you!  I love  you!^^  and  at  every  passionate  pause  he 
kissed  her  lips.  “ I love  you,  Mercy!^^ 

But  she  s]3oke  no  single  word.  Only  her  proud  head. 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


7;j 

laid  low  upon  his  breast,  answered  him,  and  her  soft  arms 
clinging  closely  round  his  neck. 

Perhaps,  however,  a lover  could  scarcely  have  desired  a 
better  answer,  and  Steve  had  declared  himself  her  lover; 
Steve,  who  only  that  some  afternoon  had  betrothed  himself 
to  Ada;  Steve  who  was  thus  forsworn,  and  who,  in  the 
first  mad  intoxication  of  a real  passion,  had  even  forgotten 
that  he  was  forsworn — for  Mercy^s  sake. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
mercy's  happy  hour. 

Mercy  went  home  like  one  who  walks  in  a blissful 
dream.  The  frosty  air  seemed  changed  to  a haze  of  hap- 
piness that  intoxicated  her  like  wine  as  she  breathed  it  in, 
and  her  swift  footsteps — swift  because,  let  one  be  ever  so 
happy  and  triumphant,  half  past  ten  o'clock  is  not  quite 
the  hour  for  a young  girl  to  be  out  in  the  street  alone,  and 
it  was  more  than  probable  that  Mrs.  Lester  would  require 
some  explanation,  and  Mercy  had  not  the  slightest  intention 
of  revealing  who  her  escort  had  really  been;  therefore  she 
hurried  rapidly  along  Seventeenth  Street,  and  her  swift 
footsteps  were  light  and  buoyant  as  if  they  trod  the  air. 

Steve  had  kept  her  talking  for  nearly  an  hour  after  that 
mad  declaration  of  his,  saying  nothing  to  the  point  (/.  ^., 
nothing  about  matrimony)  certainly,  as  Mercy  could  not 
but  acknowledge,  but  full  of  love  and  tenderness,  and  evi- 
dently almost  unable  to  make  up  his  mind  to  let  her  leave 
him  at  all,  so  that  it  was  long  after  ten  o'clock  when  she 
reached  the  house,  looking  so  brilliantly  handsome,  for  her 
lips  and  cheeks  were  aglow  with  her  lover's  kisses,  and  her 
eyes  were  like  shining  stars,  that  Polly  Lester,  coming  for- 
ward to  meet  her,  all  prepared  to  scold,  actually  forgot 
her  purpose,  and  stood  looking  at  her  in  silence  for  awhile, 
positively  startled  at  her  beauty. 

‘‘  Why,  Mercy,  it's  almost  eleven  o'clock!"  Mrs.  Lester 


74 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


said  at  last,  exaggerating  her  sister  womaii^s  offenses,  as  is 
the  custom  of  the  sex.  “ Where  on  earth  have  you  been? 
And  what  makes  your  lace  so  red  and  your  eyes  so  bright? 
You  look  quite  excited!^^ 

Mercy  might  have  answered  truthfully  enough  that  the 
probable  reason  for  her  looking  excited  was  that  she  really 
was  so.  But  she  did  nothing  of  the  sort.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  put  her  two  hands  to  her  crimson,  tell-tale 
cheeks  and  cast  down  her  bright  and  happy  eyes. 

“ Ik’s  the  wind  and  the  frosty  air,  I think,  that  makes 
my  face  burn  so.  Cousin  Polly,^^  she  said,  innocently,  and 
added,  in  her  secret  soul:  ‘‘  You  will  be  sister  Polly  one  of 
these  days,  though  you  little  suspect  it;  ai  d I really  feel 
to  like  you  to-night  for  your  brother's  sake. Then  she 
went  on  with  a guileless  air  that  quite  satisfied  Polly.  “ I 
took  the  wrong  turning  and  lost  my  way.  That^s  how  1 
am  so  late.  I got  into  a wide  street — Broadway  it  was 
called — and,  not  liking  to  accost  any  one  so  late,  1 wan- 
dered along  quite  a distance.  The  sleighs  were  so  pretty 
and  merry-looking,  too,  ITn  afraid  V spent  some  time  in 
watching  them.  At  last  I found  that  I must  have  a 
guide,  so  1 spoke  to  a young  fellow  who  was  passing,  and 
he  very  kindly  brought  me  to  the  end  of  the  street.  I 
think, she  added,  naively,  “ that  1 have  rather  enjoyed 
my  adventure  on  the  whole,  now  that  I am  safely  housed 
again. 

Polly  Lester,  though  rather  scandalized,  was  mollified 
by  this  very  candid  explanation.  She  shook  her  head  a lit- 
tle, but  not  severely. 

“ Country  ways  woiiT  do  for  New  York,  my  dear,^^  said 
she,  assuming  an  air  of  matronly  dignity  and  immensely 
superior  age.  ‘‘You  are  not  quite  homely  enough  to  go 
running  about  the  streets  alone,  you  know.  Your  mother 
will  hold  us  responsible  for  your  safety,  of  course.  DoiiT 
go  out  so  late  alone  again,  I beg  of  you.'’^ 

^ There  was  a certain  air  of  patronage  in  this  speech 


ms  COUNTRY  COUSTlSr. 


75 


which  Mercy,  proud  of  temper  and  quick  of  tongue,  de- 
tected instantly,  and  at  another  time  would  have  resented 
too. 

But  she  was  too  happy  and  secretly  triumphant  now 
to  resent  anything.  She  only  laughed  joyously  and  an- 
swered: 

You  are  quite  right,  of  course,  cousin.  But  for  all 
that,^^  she  added,  with  secret  satisfaction,  “if  I get  into 
no  worse  trouble  or  mischief  than  I have  to-night,  I shall 
do  well  enough. 

An  opinion  from  which  Polly  would  have  differed  widely 
if  she  could  have  known  all — an  opinion  which  Mercy  her- 
self, in  after  days  saw  sorrowful  cause  to  qualify. 

But  what  have  sorrowful  after  days  to  do  with  the  glad 
present,  especially  when  one  is  young,  and  beautiful,  and 
triumphant  with  a sense  of  one’s  power? 

In  her  present  hour  of  happiness  and  success  Mercy 
would  have  laughed  scornfully  at  the  wisest  seer  who 
should  have  foretold  to  her  sorrow  and  defeat  in  store. 

She  bade  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lester  good -night,  and  went 
away  to  her  own  room  still  bright  and  buoyant  with  the 
same  glamour  of  love  and  joy  that  she  had  brought  into 
the  house  with  her. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lester  were  sensible  that  their  handsome 
parlor  grew  duller  after  she  had  closed  its  door  behind 
her,  as  if  she  had  somehow  taken  away  from  it  a portion 
of  warmth  and  light. 

“ A happy,  joyous  disposition,  and  so  pretty!”  said 
Richard  Lester  to  his  wife.  “ There’s  no  such  thing  as 
fretting  or  growling  about  her;  she  seems  quite  at  home 
here  already.” 

And  in  his  heart  he  thought: 

“ What  a wife  she’ll  make  for  somebody!” 

But  this  opinion  he  was  far  too  discreet  to  express  aloud, 
knowing  instinctively  that  Polly  did  not  share  his  admira- 
tion. 


76 


HIS  COUNTEY  COUSlK^. 


Mercy,  whose  beauty  had  impressed  him  from  the  first, 
had  completely  won  him  by  the  admirable  discretion  with 
which  she  had  fulfilled  her  mother^s  trust  about  the  let- 
ters. 

Handing  the  little  package  to  him  the  first  time  she 
found  him  alone,  and  doing  so  with  such  an  air  of  smiling 
simplicity,  as  permitted  him  to  flatter  himself  that  she 
knew  nothing  of  its  contents,  and  at  least  assured  him  that 
even  if  she  did  know,  she  was  not  the  girl  to  presume  upon 
her  information. 

I think  she  seems  rather  heartless,^^  was  Polly^s  dis- 
couraging reply.  ‘‘Not  one  regret  for  home  or  for  her 
mother^s  company;  I couldn^t  part  from  my  mother  so 
coolly,^^  she  continued,  quite  ignoring  the  probable  differ- 
ence between  cold,  hard,  stern  Jane  Craven  and  the  “ lit- 
tle mother,’^  whose  whole  life  had  been  toward  her  twin 
children  one  long  “ act  of  love.'’’  “ Let  her  village  home 
have  been  ever  so  dull,  one  would  think  she  would  feel  the 
change,  especially  as  she  hasn’t  come  to  the  warmest  of 
welcomes  here.  But  I suppose  she  is  one  of  those  cold- 
hearted,  ambitious  women  who  care  for  nothing  but  them- 
selves. I’m  sure  she  looks  it!”  spitefully,  for  Mercy’s 
looks  were  bound  to  give  offense  to  her  own  sex.  “ 1 for- 
got to  tell  her  there  was  a letter  for  her  upstairs,  but  I 
dare  say  it  doesn’t  matter.  It  came  while  she  was  out, 
and  1 sent  it  up  to  her  room  supposing  that  she  had  re- 
turned. I guess  by  the  postmark  it’s  from  her  mother. 
It  lies  on  her  toilet-table  near  the  looking-glass,  so  she’ll 
be  sure  to  see  it  ” (still  more  spitefully).  “ Or  if  she 
doesn’t  it  won’t  much  matter,  I fancy.  She’s  not  pining 
for  news  of  mother  or  home,  as  you  very  truly  say,  my 
dear;  she’ll  wait  with  great  equanimity  for  news  of  them, 
no  doubt,  until  the  morning!” 


HIS  COUi^TUY  COUSIN. 


77 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HOPES  AND  FEARS. 

Mercy  did  not  wait  quite  so  loug^  however;  but  neither 
did  she  discover  the  letter  immediately,  though  it  must  be 
confessed  that  she  went  straight  to  her  looking-glass  the 
moment  she  entered  the  room,  and  not  from  a feeling  of 
vanity — though  it  would  have  been  a hard  matter  to  make 
Polly  Lester  believe  that. 

The  girl  was  too  well  used  to  her  own  beauty  to  spend 
much  time  over  its  contemplation,  and  her  hasty  rush  to 
the  mirror  arose  from  a real  anxiety  to  see  for  herself  how 
much  her  glowing  eyes  and  tell-tale  cheeks  might  have  re- 
vealed to  Polly.  The  crimson  deepened  as  she  gazed,  and 
she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  again,  shamed,  before 
her  own  bright  eyes,  at  the  rapture  of  love  and  joy  that 
shone  in  them. 

“ If  Polly  had  ever  felt  as  I feel,  she  would  know,^^  she 
murmured,  guiltily.  “My  eyes  betray  me;  I never  saw 
that  strange,  soft  light  in  them  before,  and  I’ve  seen  them 
and  speculated  on  their  beauty’s  worth  at  their  best  and 
brightest.  It  is  the  ‘ love-light,’  I suppose,  that  poets  talk 
about,  and  that  I have  so  often  mocked  at — ah,  but  I 
mock  no  longer;  I have  learned  that  I,  too,  can  love.  Oh, 
but  you  are  beautiful  with  that  new  light  in  you!”  she 
went  on,  softly,  and  gayly  apostrophizing  her  own  splendid 
dark  orbs,  or,  rather,  their  reflection  in  the  glass;  “and 
oh,  but  it  is  a sweet  light  and  a happy  light— a light  that 
may  well  be  the  warmth  and  sunshine  of  a woman’s  life; 
and  God  is  good  to  me  at  last — to  me,  whose  life  has  been 
so  sad  and  lonely,  when  He  lets  my  cold  and  hard  heart 
feel,  and  my  eyes  show  it! — they  mustn’t  show  it  quite  so 
plainly,  though,  to  any  one  but  Steve,  dear,  dear  Steve,  or 
we  shall  not  long  keep  our  secret,  for  if  I should  see  that 


78 


niS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


light  after  to-night  in  another  wonian^s  eyes^  1 should 
just  say  to  myself,  ‘Hum!  you  have  been  looking  at  the 
man  you  love,  my  dear.^  The  man  I love!^ — oh,  how 
strange  the  sweet  words  sound !-;-the  man  1 love!^^ 

She  sat  down  now  on  a chair  that  happened  to  stand 
just  before  the  mirror,  and,  never  noticing  the  letter  at  all, 
went  on  meditating  softly,  and  smiling  the  sweetest,  hap- 
piest smile  meanwhile  that  ever  yet  had  brightened  her 
beautiful  face. 

“It  is  so  strange  to  think  that,  two  days  ago,  we  did 
not  know  each  other, she  mused,  “ and  now! — there  is 
such  a thing  as  love  at  first  sight,  then,  after  all!  He 
cares  more  for  me  in  these  few  hours  than  for  that  pretty 
pink-and-white  girl  who  has,  no  doubt,  been  trying  to  win 
him  all  her  life  long.  She  never  shall  have  him  now!  Are 
they  engaged,  I wonder?  Strange  that  he  never  men- 
tioned marriage  to  me  to-night — no,  not  once!^^ 

The  smile  died  away  and  a frown  replaced  it  at  that  re- 
flection; but  not  for  long — not  for  long  enough  to  banish 
the  love-light  from  her  eyes.  She  was  too  happy  and  too 
confident  of  her  own  power  to  look  on  the  dark  side  yet 
awhile. 

“ The  Cjuestion  of  marriage  is  understood,  of  course,^^ 
she  reassured  herself.  “ Of  course  he  means  to  marry 
me;  he  is  too  honest  and  too  young  to  have  any  less  honor- 
able thought;  and,  if  there  has  been  any  nonsense  with 
this  Ada  West — as  1 fear,  1 fear! — why,  it  will  have  to  be 
got  over.  Certainly  his  family  will  oppose  it;  but  I think 
he  will  defy  his  family  for  my  sake,  let  Ada  be  once  out  of 
the  way.  As  for  her,  in  a choice  between  her  happiness 
and  my  own,  1 naturally  choose  my  own.  AVho  would 
not?  WTio,  above  all — whose  life  had  known  so  little  hap- 
piness as  mine  has?  Let  her  look  to  herself.  W^e  are 
pitted  against  each  other — we  two  women — and  the  one 
who  can  win  him  must  take  him.  He  is  mine  so  far. 
Yes,  in  spite  of  your  long  acquaintance  and  Mrs.  Ray- 


HIS  COUJSTKY  COUSIN. 


70 


moneys  favor — in  spite  of  flirtation,  and  some  sort  of  tacit 
engagement,  perhaps — in  spite  of  your  pretty  face  and 
good  family,  and  your  fortune — in  spite  of  all  these  he 
forgot  you  for  me  to-night,  and  he  loves  me  best — and  so 
he  is  mine  so  far!^^ 

The  smile  had  died  and  the  love-light  had  faded  when 
x\da  came  into  these  musings,  and  the  old,  hard,  resolute 
look,  so  familiar  in  Mercy  Craven^s  face,  darkened  its 
beauty  once  more.  But  she  cast  the  shadow  off  and  bright- 
ened again  at  that  thought — “ He  loves  me  best!^^ 

‘‘  After  all,^^  she  went  on  reasoning — “ after  all,  what 
does  the  opposition  of  his  family  amount  to,  and  upon 
what  will  it  be  founded?  They  can  have  no  objection  to 
me  personally,  unless  my  poverty;  and  what  does  that 
matter,  really  and  practically,  when  he  is  rich  enough  for 
both?  It  might  be  a serious  obstacle,  indeed,  if  we  both 
were  without  fortune;  mother  would  have  something  to 
say  about  it  then,  and  I could  not  ignore  her  wishes  as  1 
shall  ignore  the  Eaymond  family.  She  would  make  me 
give  him  up!  Would  she?^^  The  hard  look  came  into  her 
face  again.  “ Could  she?  Is  this  new,  strange,  sweet  love 
that  I feel  so  poor  and  weak  a feeling  that  any  one  could 
make  me  give  up  my  dear  lover?  No,  no,  no!  1 might 
choose  to  do  so  of  my  own  hard,  selfish  will,  preferring 
riches  to  his  love;  but  no  mortal  living,  except  myself, 
shall  be  strong  enough  to  part  us!  Except  myself!  If  I 
should  do  it  it  would  be  like  self-murder,  for  all  the  years 
of  my  life  have  not  been  worth  the  last  hour  of  it  in  which 
I have  loved  and  been  loved  again.  My  miserable,  lonely, 
loveless,  drudging  life — so  hard,  so  monotonous,  so  poor! 
Ahy  the  curse  of  poverty!  Could  even  Stevens  love  content 
me  if  we  were  poor— if  I must  dress  my  beauty  in  cotton 
gowns,  and  hide  it  in  poky  rooms  where  none  would  see 
me  and  make  my  husband  proud  by  telling  him  how  fair 
his  wife  was?  How  I hate  that  very  word — Poverty!^^ 

Her  beautiful  eyes  had  clouded  with  these  thoughts,  and 


80 


HIS  COUHTKY  COUSIK. 


her  face  wore  its  worst  and  hardest  expression.  Suddenly 
a happier  fancy  banished  them  and  brought  the  brightness 
back, 

“ How  silly  I am,  torturing  myself  with  such  idle  fan- 
cies! Steve  is  rich,  of  course.  Did  not  my  mother  say, 
‘ The  younger  brother  is  well  off,  and  you  will  do  well  if 
you  can  marry  him?^  Ah!  I would  rather  marry  Steve, 
with  a moderate  fortune,  than  any  other,  though  he  were 
the  richest  of  men.^^ 

She  laughed  and  covered  her  face  a moment. 

“ Who  would  have  thought  that  I should  ever  feel  like 
that?’^  she  sighed,  softly.  “ 1 blush  for  myself!’^ 

Then  she  took  up  again  the  thread  of  her  calculations. 

“ So,  my  mother^s  approval  being  certain,  what  else 
need  1 care  for?  My  birth  is  as  good  as  the  Eaymonds’,  at 
least  — with  a sudden  pang  of  recollection — “at  least, 
for  aught  they  know,  or  ever  shall  know,  please  God.  I 
am  not  going  to  have  my  life  spoiled  because  my  father 
was  a scoundrel  and  my  mother  a fool  for  loving  him. 
Poor  mother!^^  With  a sudden  softening:  “Did  she  feel 
toward  him  as  1 feel,  I wonder?  W'ell  might  the  bitter- 
ness of  her  disappointment  turn  her  hard  and  cold!  If  1 
were  to  prove  Steve  less  dear  and  good  and  true  than  1 be- 
lieve him,  I would  never  trust  man,  woman,  or  child 
again  !^^ 

With  that  she  arose  and  stood  before  the  glass,  and 
began  to  take  down  the  heavy  masses  of  her  beautiful  dark 
hair,  thinking  the  while  how  unlike  it  was  to  her  mother’s 
pale,  bright  tresses,  and  reflecting,  with  something  like 
uneasiness,  that  her  raven  locks  ,and  handsome  eyes  were 
inherited  from  her  disreputable  gypsy  father. 

“ I am  glad  that  he  is  dead,”  she  murmured  through 
stern,  set  lips.  “ It  seems  hard  to  say,  and  1 used  to  fancy 
that  I could  have  loved  him,  but,  knowing  all  that  I know 
now,  1 am  glad  he  is  dead.  You” — with  a nod  to  her 
eyes  and  hair  in  the  glass — “ you  are  the  only  good  things 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIN^. 


81 


that  he  ever  gave  me,  and,  had  he  lived,  God  knows  what 
evil  he  might  have  wrought  for  me,  especially  now,  with 
Steve.  So,  thanking  him  dutifully  for  my  black  eyes  and 
hair,^^  she  reached  down  her  hand  to  the  table  for  her 
brush,  I am  very  glad  indeed  that  he  is  dead. 

And  with  that  she  uttered  a sharp  little  exclamation  and 
sat  down,  and  quite  forgot  both  eyes  and  hair,  for  her 
hand,  feeling  vaguely  for  the  comb  and  brush,  had  found 
her  mother^s  letter. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  CLOUD  THAT  PRESAGED  THE  STORM. 

How  strange  that  Mrs.  Lester  did  not  tell  me  this  was 
here!^^  was  Mercy’s  first  thought,  quickly  followed  by  an 
angry  one.  She  will  treat  me  like  a servant  in  the  house 
as  far  as  she  dares;  but  Steve  will  change  all  that  by  and 
by,  Madame  Polly!”  Then,  as  she  broke  open  the  en- 
velope, which  was  sealed:  ‘‘And  what  can  mother  have 
had  to  say  that  needs  such  precaution  and  such  haste?  for 
my  letter  to  her  is  but  just  posted;  she  has  not  waited  for 
that  at  all!  Strange!  There’s  -not  much  news  stirring  in 
our  village  usually,  either.” 

And  with  that  she  began  to  read,  and,  as  she  read,  her 
eyes  grew  blacker,  her  brows  contracted,  her  face  grew 
paler  and  more  pale,  until  the  paper  on  which  the  words 
that  so  startled  her  were  written  was  scarcely  whiter  than 
her  lips. 

This  was  Jane  Craven’s  letter: 

“ My  dear  Mercy, — I am  ill — really  too  ill  to  write, 
but  I think  it  my  duty  to  let  not  a moment  go  by  without 
warning  you  of  a danger.  This  will  reach  you  in  time  to 
put  you  on  your  guard  against  an  enem}^ 

“ Returning  from  seeing  you  off  this  morning,  I found 
a person  waiting  for  me  in  our  cottage  garden — a man. 


82 


HIS  COUHTEY  COUSIN. 


The  last  man  in  the  world  whom  1 could  have  wished  to 
see.  A relative — a cousin  of  your  dead  father. 

“ His  sudden  appearance  gave  me  a turn  that  1 have  not 
yet  got  over.  Therefore  1 shall  write  as  briefly  as  possi- 
ble. He  greatly  resembles  your  dead  father  in  appearance 
— a tall,  dark,'  powerful-looking  fellow,  black-eyed  and 
haired,  and  with  skin  as  brown  as  an  Indian^s.  Remem- 
ber this.  You  may  see  him,  and  this  description  will  put 
you  on  your  guard. 

“ He  is  a scoundrel  of  the  worst  description,  and  you 
must  not  parley  with  him  for  a moment.  I have  reason 
to  fear  that  he  will  try  to  communicate  with  you,  perhaps 
foist  upon  you  some  claim  of  relationship — which  would 
ruin  your  prospects — or  extort  money  from  you  as  a bribe 
for  silence.  Nay,  so  impudently  daring  is  he  that  he  may 
go  further,  and  presuming  upon  a strong  family  likeness, 
represent  to  you  that  he  is  your  father  himself. 

‘Hn  such  case  you  will  remember  that  your  father  is 
certainly  dead.  That  I,  his  widow,  saw,  identified,  and 
buried  his  body. 

“ But  your  wisest  and  only  really  safe  course  will  be  to 
refuse  to  communicate  with  the  man  at  all,  If  he  persists 
or  annoys  you,  threaten  to  give  him  into  custody,  and  call 
an  officer  at  once.  He  will  not  stay  to  be  taken,  never 
fear.  He  dare  not.  1 told  you  that  the  body  which  I 
identified  was  that  of  a murdered  man.  I suspect  this  vil- 
lain to  be  the  murderer. 

“ At  the  same  time  I beg  of  you  to  remember  that  jus- 
tice and  vengeance,  and  many  other  fine  words,  are  not  for 
us  to  meddle  with.  My  young  daughter,  standing  on  the 
very  threshold  of  a prosperous  career,  is  of  infinitely  more 
importance  than  a dead  man  in  his  grave,  though  he  were 
ten  times  her  father!  Let  the  dead  rest.  Any  scandal 
that  drags  that  man’s  history  up  before  the  world  to  con- 
nect it  with  yours  will  ruin  your  matrimonial  prospects* 


HIS  COI^NTHY  COrSIN. 


83 


/ 

And  you  have  no  other  pros])ects,  child.  Therefore,  let 
the  dead  rest. 

“ I will  say  nothing  of  my  interview  with  the  man  1 
have  mentioned,  except  that  after  it  was  over  iind  he  had 
gone  1 fainted,  as  1 did  a year  ago  when  1 read  in  the 
‘ Herald  ^ of  the  drowned  man.  For  some  hours  after- 
ward 1 was  too  much  shaken  to  write;  it  is  evening  now- 
this  can  not  be  mailed  until  the  morning;  you  will  receive 
it  some  time  to-morrow  evening  in  New  York. 

He  will  not  have  found  you  so  soon.  1 refused  your 
address,  but  he  knows  my  family  connection,  and  will  be 
sure  to  search  and  inquire.  Secretly,  though,  as  he  will 
approach  you.  Therefore  do  not  go  out  alone.  Or  if  you 
do  so,  and  he  accosts  you,  follow  the  course  1 have  sug- 
gested. 

“ Above  all,  remember  that  your  father  is  dead.  Listen 
to  nothing,  believe  nothing,  that  for  one  moment  says 
differently  to  what  I declare  to  you — Eoy  Craven,  your 
father,  is  dead ! 

“ Be  careful,  be  prudent,  be  wise.  Watch  your  chances 
for  a settlement  in  life,  and  let  no  girlish  folly  balk  them. 
Thank  God,  the  training  which  I have  given  you  makes 
that  almost  impossible.  No  man,  be  he  lover  or  father, 
must  interfere  with  your  advantageous  marriage.  Mine 
was  a marriage  of  love!  Think  of  that,  and  reflect  what 
that  love  came  to,  and  be  wise. 

‘‘  God  bless  you!  Let  me  know  all  that  interests  you, 
and  especially  if  you  see  or  hear  anything  of  this  man. 

“ Your  affectionate  mother, 

‘‘  Jane  Crayeis^.^^ 

Mercy  read  this  letter  quietly  to  its  last  word.  At  the 
first  few  lines,  especially  at  the  words  “ he  greatly  resem- 
bles your  dead  father,^^  she  had  half  uttered  a startled 
cry,  a]id  glanced  nervously  around  her;  but  she  controlled 
herself  immediately,  and,  steadying  her  trembling  hands. 


84 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSHST. 


in  which  the  letter  was  shaking,  read  it  to  the  end;  fin- 
ished, she  let  it  flutter  to  the  floor,  and  clasped  her  hands 
together  passionately. 

“ It  is  my  father,'’^  she  whispered,  with  white  lips; 
“ why  else  does  she  deny  it  so  strongly,  so  resolutely,  so 
repeatedly?— it  is  my  wicked,  worthless  father  come  back 
from  death  and  the  grave,  as  it  were,  to  disgrace  me  and 
ruin  me  with  Steve 

“ With  Steve  — that  was  her  first  thought,  her  first 
fear;  not  “ to  ruin  my  prospects,^’  not  “ to  rob  me  of  the 
hope  of  marrying  wealth, but  simply  ‘‘to  ruin  me  with 
Steve!^^ 

“Oh,  Jane  Craven,  Jane  Craven!  if  you  could  know 
how  useless  your  training  has  been  to  crush  mighty  nature 
out  of  your  young  daughter's  heart! — if  you  could  see  that 
that  warm,  womanly  heart  is  like  to  prove  a greater  stum- 
bling-block in  the  prosperous  career  you  have  marked  out 
for  her  than  any  that  Eoy  Craven  can  ever  place  there. 

She  picked  the  letter  up  and  read  it  carefully  once  more, 
her  pale  face  wearing  a hard,  cold,  resolute  expression  all 
the  time. 

“ After  all,  why  should  I doubt  my  mother’s  word?” 
she  muttered.  “ I am  a wise  girl,  truly,  to  make  misery 
for  myself.  ‘Your  father  is  dead.’  She  asserts  it  very 
positively;  why  should  I hesitate  to  believe  her?  1 will 
not — I do  not.  Eoy  Craven,  my  father,  is  dead!” 

She  read  the  description  of  the  man  against  whom  her 
mother  warned  her  very  carefully.  / 

“ 1 shall  remember  that  description,  and  recognize  him 
by  it  if  we  meet,”  she  muttered,  rising  from  her  chair. 
“ This  letter  had  better  be  burned,  in  case  of  accidents.” 

There  was  a small  stove  in  the  room  with  a bright  coal 
fire  burning.  Mercy  laid  her  mother’s  letter  on  the  coals, 
and,  bending  down,  eagerly  watched  it  first  flash  into 
flame,  then  change  to  sparks  and  ashes,  then,  at  a puff  of 
her  breath,  float  away  up  the  chimney. 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


85 


“Puff!^^  she  cried,  making  a scattering  motion  with 
her  hands  as  if  she  wafted  the  last  vestige  of  it  to  the 
winds.  “ So  do  I destroy  and  blow  away  all  claims — even 
a father^s — that  can  come  between  me  and  Steve. 

Her  attitude,  bending  over  the  glowing  fire,  and  her  ex- 
citement of  mind  and  feeling,  made  her  breath  come  pant- 
ingly.  She  thought  it  was  the  warmth  of  the  room  that 
so  oppressed  her. 

“ Too  hot  to  sleep  in!^^  she  murmured,  with  an  impa- 
tient glance  around  her,  and  then  another  at  the  little  sil- 
ver watch  which  she  despised  most  cordially.  “ Pll  have 
a very  different  one  by  and  by,^^  was  her  passing  thought. 
“ Close  upon  twelve  o’clock.  I wonder  should  I disturb 
any  one  if  I opened  the  window  for  awhile.  Let’s  see;  this 
room  is  over  the  dining-room  and  looks  out  on  the  side 
street,  the  house  being  a corner  one.  I don’t  think  any 
one  will  hear.” 

She  opened  the  window  softly  and  leaned  out  into  the 
frosty  air. 

It  was  a brilliant  moonlight  night,  every  object  in  the 
almost  deserted  Madison  Avenue  (which  to  Mercy  was  the 
‘‘  side  street  ”)  as  clearly  visible  as  in  the  glare  of  day. 

There  was  a street  lamp  at  the  corner,  but  its  pale  light 
faded  so  in  the  moon’s  bright  rays  that  it  seemed,  to 
Mercy’s  fancy,  to  cast  a shadow  rather  than  a light. 

In  that  shadow  a man  was  standing,  leaning  against  the 
base  of  the  lamp.  She  did  not  see  him  at  first — not  until 
he,  having  watched  her  for  some  seconds,  started  from  the 
shadow  and  made  a peculiar  sound  like  “ Hist!”  appar- 
ently to  attract  her  attention.  Then  she  looked  at  him. 

“A  tall,  powerfully  built  man.”  The  description  in 
the  letter — the  description  which  had  just  blazed  and  flown 
away  up  the  chimney — might  almost  have  been  thought  to 
have  taken  bodily  form  when  it  got  outside,  and  to  be 
standing  now  before  her.  Her  heart  gave  a great  bound. 


86 


HTS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


and  then  was  calm  again,  for  her  keen  eyes  had  seen  a po- 
lice officer  approaching  on  the  other  side  of  the  street. 

The  man,  occupied  in  watching  her,  did  not  see  him. 

‘‘  Hist!^^  he  whispered  again.  “ Hist!  Mercy  Craven 

She  turned  on  him  with  a sudden  fury. 

How  dare  you?’^  she  said,  careful  to  control  her  voice, 
though,  and  then  she  made  a movement  to  withdraw  her 
head. 

‘‘  Hark!^^  he  said  again,  ‘‘  my  name  is  Craven  too.  Let 
me  speak  to  you. 

The  officer  was  near  at  hand.  She  pointed  to  him. 

‘‘Your  name  maybe  what  it  will,^^  she  said,  sternly; 
“ if  ever  you  dare  to  address  me  again,  1 shall  give  you 
into  custody.  If  you  don^t  go  away  instantly  1 will  do  so 
now.  Here,  officer 

Her  call  was  scarcely  loud  enough  to  be  heard,  but  it 
served  to  frighten  the  man.  He  glanced  at  the  sauntering 
policeman  and  turned  to  go. 

“ You  are  your  mother^s  daughter,  curse  you!^^  he  said, 
shaking  a threatening  fist  toward  the  girl.  “ My  curse 
upon  you  both!^^ 

He  moved  away,  and  Mercy  drew  in  her  head  and  closed 
the  window,  and  sunk  into  a chair.  She  was  trembling 
now,  but  more  from  excitement  than  cold. 

“ Who  is  he?^^  she  asked  herself.  “ 1 should  not  know 
him  in  the  daylight;  1 did  not  see  his  face.  Was  it  my 
father’s  face?” 

A violenjb  shudder  shook  her.  “He  cursed  me!”  she 
cried,  in  terror.  “Was  it  a father’s  curse?  Is  that  the 
first  fruit  that  my  love  for  Steve  brings  to  me?  Can  any 
one  thrive  under  the  \^eight  of  a father’s  curse?  It  is  a 
dreadful  thought!  But  there  ” — suddenly  controlling  her- 
self— “ why  should  it  trouble  me,  whose  father  is  so 
surely  dead?  Ah,  what  did  I say  before  that  letter  came? 
and  have  I not  far  more  reason  to  say  it  now?  I am  very, 
very  glad  my  father  is  dead!” 


ins  COUNTJiY  COUSIN.  87 

She  turned  to  the  gliiss^  and  smiled  sadly  at  the  white 
face  that  greeted  her. 

“ Pale  as  a ghost she  sighed.  And  where  has  all 
the  pretty  love-light  gone,  and  the  bright,  happy  smile? 
A cloud  has  driven  the  brightness  out  of  my  sky. She 
shivered  with  a sudden  fear.  “ 1 hope  it  may  not  prove  to 
be  the  cloud  that  presages  a storm, she  sighed.  ‘‘  Oh, 
God!  1 hope  not!’'' 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MRS.  RAYMOND  MEETS  A LION  IN  THE  PATH.^" 

‘‘  X'oTHiNG  is  perfect  in  this  world.  Even  when  you 
get  the  thing  you  most  desire,  nine  chances  out  of  ten  it 
will  disappoint  you."’ 

Such  were  Mrs.  Raymond’s  reflections  when  Steve  came 
home,  at  nearly  midnight,  after  having  escorted  Ada  home 
five  hours  before,  and  showed  himself  to  be  in  surely  the 
strangest  and  most  unsatisfactory  mood  that  ever  possessed 
a happy  and  accepted  lover. 

The  young  man  v/as  flushed  and  his  eyes  were  bright  as 
if  with  some  strong  excitement,  and  yet  the  mother’s  di- 
stinct was  quick  to  detect  that  the  excitement  was  not  alto- 
gether pleasurable.  His  look  and  tone  in  answering  her 
flrst  question  confirmed  this. 

“ Why,  where  have  you  been?  I have  waited  up  for 
you!”  she  cried,  in  surprise  and  disappointment,  for  she 
had  been  longing  to  have  him  to  herself,  and  talk  his 
prospects  over.  Surely  you  have  not  been  with  Ada  aU 
this  time?  Until  midnight!  No,  that’s  not  joossible!” 

“ Not  desirable,  either,”  he  answered,  sharply,  so  sharp- 
ly that  she  started.  ‘‘My  prospects  are  good  for  seeing 
quite  enough  of  x\da  after  awhile,  without  hunting  her 
now  by  night  and  day.  No,  certainly  I haven’t  been  with 
Ada.” 

The  little  mother  stared  at  him  in  hurt  surprise. 


88 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


Never^  no,  never  since  his  birth,  had  he  given  her  such  a 
look  and  tone  before.  She  said  not  a word,  however,  but 
sat  quite  silent  studying  him. 

.It  was  rather  a perplexing  study.  He  flung  himself  into 
a chair,  took  off  his  boots  as  if  he  owed  them  a separate 
grudge,  glanced  at  his  mother  with  a conscious  air,  and 
then  averted  his  eyes  again. 

Finally  he  arose,  and  saying,  sullenly,  “ Fm  sorry  I 
kept  you  waiting,  mother;  you  had  better  get  to  bed,^^ 
turned  to  the  door  as  if  to  leave  her. 

Now,  the  little  mother  was  shrewd  enough,  and  by  no 
means  ignorant  of  human  nature.  Noting  the  almost 
scornful  bitterness  of  the  tone  in  which  her  son  had  just 
pronounced  Ada’s  name,  she  in  an  instant  thought  of 
“ the  other  woman,”  and  suspected  her  influence  here. 
Still,  as  he  might  not  have  been  thinking  of  Mercy  after 
all,  she  was  too  discreet  to  suggest  her  to  his  thoughts  by 
any  point-blank  mention  of  her  name.  So  she  went  after 
information  roundabout. 

“ Don’t  go  just  this  minute,  dear,”  she  said,  coaxingly, 
careful  not  to  add  to  his  evident  irritation  by  tone  or  word. 
“I’ve  been  waiting  so  long  to  talk  to  you.  Where  have 
you  been?  To  Polly’s?” 

He  had  paused,  at  her  request,  on  the  threshold.  He 
was  too  fond  of  the  little  mother  to  slight  any  wish  of  hers. 
But  he  started  at  her  question  as  if  it  had  stung  him. 

“ To  Polly’s?  No,  indeed!”  And  then  he  laughed  un- 
pleasantly. “ Did  you  think  I should  be  in  a hurry  to  ad- 
vertise my  folly?  For  it  folly!  Mother,  I believe  this 
engagement  of  marriage  is  a hasty,  foolish  step,  and  both 
Ada  and  I shall  repent  of  it.” 

And  then,  noticing  his  mother’s  pale,  shocked  face,  and 
sensible  that  his  own  heat  and  seeming  fickleness  needed 
some  explanation,  he  went  on  more  quietly: 

“ I am  but  young  to  tie  myself  down  to  a wife  yet,  and, 
mother  dear,  I am  too  poor.  Ada  has  money.  What  will 


HIS  COUKTRY  COUSIH. 


89 


the  world  think?  I look  like  a fortune-hunter,  llow 
much  better  to  have  left  me  free  to  carve  out  a place  in 
life  and  a share  of  fortune,  and  then  let  me  meet  the  wife 
of  my  choice  on  equal  grounds.  I confess  to  you  that  1 
am  ashamed  and  sorry  for  having  made  this  engagement 
at  all.''^ 

Mrs.  Raymond  breathed  a deep  'sigh  of  relief.  If  this 
was  Stevens  strongest  objection  to  the  proposed  union,  it 
might  be  got  over  very  easily  indeed.  Much  more  easily 
than  Mercy  Craven  could  have  been  got  rid  of,  had  she 
been  the  “ lion  in  the  way.'^^  The  little  mother  smiled  a 
well-satisfied  smile. 

‘‘You  foolish  boy!^^  she  said,  tenderly.  “To  grieve 
yourself  about  nothing  at  all.  Did  you  suppose  I should 
not  think  of  all  this?  Have  I been  such  a bad  mother  to 
my  boy?’^ 

What  could  he  do  but  take  her  in  his  arms  and  call  her 
— what  she  truly  was — the  dearest  and  best  of  mothers. 
Then  he  began  to  argue  with  her. 

“ But  you  know,  dear,  that  when  Polly^s  marriage  and 
the  question  of  Polly^s  dowry  came  along,  you  and  I 
agreed  between  us  that  whatever  money  you  had  saved,  to 
divide  between  us,  should  all  be  Polly^s,  so  that  she  might 
go  to  Dick  Lester  as  a fairly  portioned  bride.  1 was  not 
to  marry  for  many  a long  year,  and,  as  a man,  could  do 
something  to  make  my  own  fortune,  with  your  loving  care 
to  aid  me.  You  remember  our  agreement,  mother?  It 
put  Polly  on  a proper  footing  with  her  husband  and  his 
family,  but  it  left  me  penniless.  I donT  regret  it,  mind. 
I’m  young,  with  all  the  world  and  my  life  before  me.  But 
it  ought  to  put  my  marriage,  for  the  present,  out  of  the 
question.  If  the  wife  proposed  for  me  were  poor,  our 
union  would  be  imprudent;  if  she  be  rich,  it  appears  to 
me  contemptible.  If  I marry  Ada  I shall  be  wretched!  I 
implore  you,  mother,  to  go  to  her  in  the  morning,  and  ask 
her  to  keep  our  rash  engagement  a secret,  at  least  until 


90 


HTS  COUNTRY  COIJSIlSr. 


such  time  as  1 can  see  my  way  to  meeting  her  on  some- 
thing like  equal  terms.  She  will  consent  to  this  if  you  ask 
her.  Will  you  ask  her_,  dear?^^ 

He  was  pleading  earnestly,  with  his  arms  around  her, 
and  many  a coaxing  kiss  administered  between  the  plead- 
ing words. 

His  whole  heart  was  set  upon  gaining  this  concession. 
Secrecy!  Secrecy,  at  any  cost.  That  Mercy  should  not 
hear,  should  not  know. 

Secrecy  would  give  him  time,  and  all  the  world  knows 
that  ‘‘  time  works  wonders;^^  he  might  be  able  to  obtain  a 
release  from  his  engagement  in  time,  perhaps. 

Mrs.  Eaymond  never  suspected  that  his  present  wishes 
had  such  a goal  in  view,  and,  mother-like,  yielded  to  his 
earnestness. 

You  want  the  engagement  kept  secret  until  your  own 
circumstances  are  more  equal  and  clear she  questioned. 
‘‘  Well,  1 donT  mind  asking  Ada  that,  as  you  make  such  a 
point  of  it,  and  she  will  consent,  I am  sure.  But,  dear,  it 
is  most  unnecessary.  I can  place  you  in  a position  to 
marry  Ada,  and  1 will.  Only  wait  a few  days  until  James 
comes  home,  and  you’ll  see — ” 

‘‘James!”  Steve  withdrew  himself  a little  from  her 
embrace  as  he  heard  his  brother’s  name,  and  stood  looking 
at  her  with  a startled  and  thoughtful  face.  “James,  did 
you  say,  mother?  Now,  what  on  earth  can  James  have  to 
do  with  it?” 

Mrs.  Eaymond  laughed  softly,  in  her  own  happy,  satis- 
fied little  way,  and  seating  herself  comfortably  in  her 
favorite  chair,  signed  to  Steve  to  follow  her  example. 

“I  certainly  said  James,  my  deaiv”  said  she,  compla- 
cently. “ James,  your  eldest  brother,  and  the  head  of  our 
family,  as  you  know  he  is.  As  to  what  he  can  have  to  do 
with  your  being  placed  in  a proper  position  to  become  the 
husband  of  Ada,  sit  down  comfortably  and  I’ll  tell  you  all 
about  it. 


HIS  COUNTllY  COUSIN. 


lil 

Stephen^  after  a momenta's  silent  and  evidently  startled 
hesitation,  obeyed  her,  though  not  literally,  for  instead  of 
sitting  down  comfortably,  as  she  suggested,  he  Hung  him- 
self at  full  length  upon  the  hearth-rug  before  the  fire  and 
at  his  mother’s  feet. 

‘‘  This  will  do,  mammy,  if  it’s  going  to  be  a long  talk,” 
said  he,  leaniug  his  head  against  her  lap  in  such  a position 
that  she  could  not  see  his  face. 

“ Now  for  it!  What  about  brother  James?*” 

But  as  I,  also,  shall  have  something  to  say  “ about 
brother  James,”  and  as  brother  James  is  destined  to  play 
a rather  important  part  in  this  simple  story,  1 think  the 
best  plan  will  be  to  reserve  both  Mrs.  Eaymond"s  remarks 
and  my  own  for  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ABOUT  BKOTHER  JAMES. 

James  Raymond,  who,  at  only  twenty-eight  (it  has 
been  mentioned  that  he  was  rather  more  than  seven  years 
Steve’s  senior)  held  the  name  and  position  of  “ Head  of 
the  Raymond  Family,”  had  not  been  invested  with  this 
dignityjn  right  of  primogeniture  merely,  neither  had  he 
attained  to  it  by  any  special  excellence  or  virtue,  or  ex- 
traordinary gifts  of  qualities  of  either  mind  or  body.  In 
fact,  he  was  rather  a commonplace  young  man,  with  the 
exception  of  a certain  hardness,  dryness,  and  coldness  of 
nature  and  temper  which  enabled  him  to  keep  his  ‘‘  near- 
est and  dearest  ” at  a distance  from  his  own  personal 
affairs,  and  live,  even  while  mixing  with  the  world,  and 
transacting  business,  almost  as  closely  shut  up  in  his  own 
designs  and  plans  as  an  oyster  is  within  its  shell. 

“ Close-fisted  and  close-mouthed,”  had  been  the  char- 
acter that  his  intimates  gave  him,  even  when  a boy  at 
school,  and  maturer  years,  spent  in  that  advanced  school, 
the  world,  had  not  changed  him. 


92 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


“ A born  money-getter/^  Jane  Craven  had  described 
him,  and  perhaps  the  ‘‘  close  fist  and  the  silent  tongue 
were  natural  traits  of  such  a character.  A money-maker 
he  was  most  undoubtedly  and  emphatically. 

Dull  at  all  studies  that  aimed  not  at  that  end,  indiffer- 
ent to  all  other  pursuits,  but  having  the  vulture^s  keen- 
ness, when  a bargain  was  to  be  scented  out,  and  the  fox^s 
shrewdness  and  cunning  to  aid  him  in  carrying  off  the 
prize. 

He  was  not  a bold  speculator;  his'  methods  of  attaining 
wealth  were  slow  but  sure,  and,  beginning  as  a poor  man, 
he  would  probably  never  have  been  more  than  a moderate- 
ly rich  one,  but  he  had  had  the  advantage  of  commencing 
life  with  a very  fair  fortune,  and  those  who  knew  him  best 
prophesied  confidently  that  at  forty  he  would  be  a mill- 
ionaire. 

Why  not?  people  would  say;  he  was  on  the  road  to  it 
already,  and  certain  to  marry  wealth,  of  course. 

Money  being  his  only  taste,  his  only  ambition,  his  only 
passion,  who  could  for  one  moment  doubt  that  he  would 
marry  money,  tooR 

Certainly  he  himself  did  not  question  it.  Marriage,  to 
his  mind,  was  simply  a matter  of  business — a life-partner- 
ship of  the  closest  kind,  in  which  the  interests  of  the  con- 
tracting parties  ought  to  be  as  nearly  as  possible  equal. 

He  fully  intended  to  marry  whenever  he  should  meet 
with  a suitable  bride,  and  “ by  suitable'’^  he  simply  and 
solely  meant  “ a lady  possessed  of  a large  fortune;^^  for 
the  rest  she  might  be  young  and  fair  or  old  and  ugly,  a 
model  of  feminine  wisdom,  or  a semi-idiot;  so  long  as  she 
brought  him  a large  fortune  and  conducted  herself  so  as  to 
do  no  discredit  to  his  name,  the  rest  was  “ all  one  to 
James  Eaymond. 

Asked  his  opinion  on  the  question  of  Polly ^s  dowry,  he 
had  said  coldly  that  Steve  was  a fool  for  giving  up  his  share 


ms  COL^NTJtY  COUSIN. 


o:] 

of  their  mother’s  savings^  but  that  since  Stephen  was  such 
a fool  it  was  a good  thing  for  Polly,  of  course. 

Had  further  said  that  it  was  his  own  intention  to  present 
his  sister  with  one  thousand  dollars  to  buy  her  wedding 
clothes,  and  that  he  should  wish  it  understood  that  her  ex- 
2)ectations  from  him  must  end  here,  as  he  should  never,  at 
any  time,  do  anything  further. 

In  his  own  soul,  though  glad  enough  of  Polly’s  good 
fortune,  in  his  secret  soul  he  considered  liichard  Lester  a 
fool  for  marrying  a girl  comparatively  poor  when  richer 
ones  were  to  be  had  for  the  asking. 

“ For  what  difference  can  it  make  in  the  long  run?”  he 
asked  himself.  “ If  Dick  had  a fancy  for  youth  and  a 
pretty  fac^e,  there  are  plenty  as  pretty  as  our  Polly,  and 
with  fair  fortunes  to  their  backs.  And  one  woman  seems 
as  good  as  another,  I think.  Allowing  some  difference  of 
temper,  and  all  that— which  you  can’t  find  out  until 
you’ve  married  them — they’re  all  the  same;  you’ve  got  a 
wife,  and  there’s  an  end  of  it.  But  the  money  is  a tangi- 
ble good.  If  she’s  a good  wife,  the  money  makes  your 
bargain  better;  i^ she’s  a Tartar  the  money  makes  amends. 
Dick  Lester  marries  Polly  and  takes  her  fortune  whatever 
it  may  be,  by  the  way.  I shall  marry  a large  fortune  and 
take  the  woman  it  belongs  to  whatever  she  may  be,  by  the 
way.  That’s  worldly  wisdom.  Dick’s'  a fool,  and  I’m 
glad  of  it,  for  Polly’s  sake.  He’ll  never  be  more  than 
comfortably  off,  while  I shall  be  a millionaire.  Well,  I’m 
satisfied!” 

Something  of  these  meditations  he  had  imparted  to  his 
mother;  confidentially,  of  course,  and  very  much  to  her 
gentle  indignation. 

‘‘  It  is  well  that  every  one  is  not  so  worldly  wise  as  your- 
self, my  dear,”  she  had  said  reproachfully,  “or  there 
wouldn’t  be  much  chance  for  true  love  and  domestic  hap- 
piness. However,  I don’t  believe  that  you  are  half  so 
hard  as  you  pretend  to  be,  and  if  Steve  should  have  a 


94: 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


chance  by  and  by  to  marry  no  less  prosperously  than  Polly 
has  done,  you  won^t  allow  his  generosity  to  his  sister  to  be 
a stumbling-block  in  his  way.^^ 

James  caught  at  the  allusion  to  Stevens  possible  mar- 
riage, but  ignored  the  hint  to  himself. 

» “ Youh*e  thinking  of  Ada  AVest,^^  said  he.  “ Now  isn^t 
that  another  instance  of  folly?  There's  a girl  with  a very 
pretty  fortune— a very  pretty  fortune  indeed — resolute  to 
give  it  and  herself  to  a penniless  young  fellow,  who  hasn't 
— thanks  to  his  quixotism  about  Polly — a dollar  in  the 
world!  AVhereas,  1 warrant  you,  if  I were  to  ask  her  to 
marry,  she  wouldn't  so  much  as  even  look  at  me!" 

Gentle  Mrs.  Eaymond  stared  at  him  in  great  surprise. 

‘‘  Did  you  think  of  asking  her  to  marry  you,  my  dear?" 
she  asked.  “ Do  you  care  for  her?" 

James  laughed  aloud.  Not  heartily — that  was  not  his 
way — but  quietly,  as  if  much  amused. 

“ No,  no,  no!"  said  he.  “ Don't  be  afraid,  mother;  I 
sha'n't  interfere  with  your  favorite.  When  I said  Ada 
had  a pretty  fortune,  I meant  for  Steve.  You  understand? 
— for  Steve.  I should  want  her  sum  toid  ten  times  over. 
It'll  take  that  to  make  me  saddle  myself  with  a wife, 
mother,  take  my  word  for  it!" 

lie  was  still  laughing  good  - humoredly.  The  little 
mother  looked  up  wistfully  into  his  face. 

“I  don't  believe  }^ou,  James,"  said  she.  “You're  a 
man  of  business,  a man  of  the  world;  but  you’re  not  so 
hard  as  that.  I do  believe  you'll  yet  meet  a woman  that 
you'd  give  all  your  money  and  all  the  world  to  win,  and 
then  you'll  marry  for  love." 

He  laughed  even  more  merrily  than  before  at  that,  but 
into  his  laughter  had  crept  a tone  of  scorn,  as  if  he  mocked 
at  the  possibility  of  his  loving;  and  the  little  mother,  hear- 
ing him,  thought  that  lier  own  words  had  been  wild  and 
foolish,  and  never  dreamed  that  they  should  yet  be  proved 
words  of  true  prophecy. 


HTR  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


05 


ITowcver,  lie  promised  her  tliis  much,  for  Steve — tliaf, 
if  the  boy  should  really  win  Ada’s  hand,  he  would  receive 
him  into  his  business  as  a junior  jiartner.  There  were  con- 
ditions— which  would  be  fulfilled  partly  by  the  little  moth- 
er’s exertions,  and  partly,  if  necessar}",  by  Ada’s  means, 
Steve  not  knowing — and  these  conditions  were  undoubtedly 
profitable  to  James,  or  he  would  never  have  agreed  to 
them. 

These  plans — at  least,  such  portions  of  them  as  she 
thought  fit — Mrs.  Kaymond  now  confided  to  her  son  Steve, 
together  with  his  brother’s  promise. 

“ You  are  already  in  his  employ  on  a salary,”  she  said, 
“ and  when  he  accepts  3^ou  as  partner  what  more  can  any 
one  ask?  1 will  find  the  necessary  money.  Youi  salary, 
to  begin  with,  will  make  you  independent  of  your  wife, 
some  |3ortion  of  whose  fortune  may  be  invested  in  the  firm, 
if  you  think  proper.  But  James  will  explain  it  all  to  you; 
he  writes  me  that  he  will  be  home  in  about  a week.  Wait 
until  James  comes  back.” 

* Steve  offered  no  further  opposition  to  his  mother’s  plan, 
merely  stipulating  that  she  should,  first  thing  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  go  to  Ada  and  bind  her  to  secrecy — at 
least  until  James  returned. 

“ She  will  consent.  It  will  only  be  for  a week,”  said 
the  little  mother,  cheerfully;  and  Steve,  sighing  heavily, 
echoed  her  words: 

“ Only  for  a week!” 

And  a week  is  nothing,”  he  said  to  himself,  when 
alone  in  his  room.  ‘‘  1 can’t  keep  it  from  her.  The  most 
this  delay  will  do  for  me  will  be  to  give  me  a chance  of 
telling  her  myself.  If  she’ll  only  wait  for  me.  I’ll  marry 
her.  I’ll  break  with  Ada;  but  1 can’t  do  it  brutally  and 
all  at  once,  for  she  is  a sweet,  good  girl.  Poor  Ada!  But 
1 love  Mercy.  Oh,  my  beauty,  my  darling,  I love  }mu- 
You,  and  you  only,  shall  be  my  wife!” 

So  on,  for  hours,  up  and  down  his  room,  unable. to  slee]!. 


96 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


to  rest^  even  to  keep  still;  and  at  that  same  time  Mercy, 
chilled  by  the  night  air  and  shuddering  at  a ruffian'’s  curse, 
sat  pale  and  sorrowful  under  the  sudden  cloud  that  had 
scared  the  brightness  from  her  sky,  and  prayed  fearfully, 
“ God  grant  it  be  not  the  cloud  that  presages  a storm!^’ 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

HOW  THE  STORM  BROKE. 

James  Raymond  did  not  return  for  nearly  two  weeks, 
during  which  time  Steve  and  Mercy  carried  their  love- 
making  on  apace,  in  spite  of  many  difficulties. 

Their  interviews  were  stolen  and  few,  but  not  the  less 
sweet  for  that,  and  as  yet  Steve  had  not  found  courage  (he 
called  it  opportunity)  to  tell  Mercy  of  his  engagement  to 
Ada  West. 

As  for  her,  so  far  from  making  any  inquiries  on  the  sub- 
ject, she  carefully  avoided  it. 

‘‘  I will  never  recall  her  to  his  thoughts  again, she  had 
resolved  on  that  first  evening,  and  she  kept  her  word  well, 
for  she  loved  him. 

So  the  poor  girl  went  on  in  a fooPs  paradise,  in  which 
the  skies  were  always  bright,  and  in  which  she  forgot  that 
there  had  ever  been  a sign  of  coming  storm,  until  one 
evening  it  broke  upon  her  very  suddenly. 

It  was  about  seven  o^clock.  The  Lesters  usually  dined 
at  six,  and  dinner  was  just  over, 

Polly  and  Dick,  with  their  two  children,  sat  chatting  softly 
by  the  comfortable  parlor  fire,  while  Mercy,  at  a distant 
window,  was  arranging  the  folds  of  curtains  so  that  they 
should  not  injure  some  choice  flowering  plants  that  were 
Polly’s  special  pride.  All  at  once  there  was  a sound  of 
merry  voices  in  the  hall,  the  door  flew  open,  and  in  came 
a laughing  group.  James  Raymond,  with  the  little  moth- 
er on  his  arm,  and  Steve  following,  with  Ada. 

Polly  sprung  to  her  feet  with  a cry: 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN.  07 

“ James!  Is  it  really  you?^’  and  embraced  her  brother 
warmly. 

Dick  Lester  also  gave  him  a cordial  welcome  (for  this 
was  the  head  of  the  family^  the  man  of  money,  whom  they 
all,  perhaps  half  unconsciously,  propitiated);  then  a chair 
was  brought  for  him,  the  two  children  were  displayed  to 
Uncle  James. 

Ada  and  Mrs.  Eaymond  got  their  bonnets  off,  and  with 
Steve,  drew  seats  into  the  cosy  family  circle.  No  one  ex- 
cept Steve  had  noticed  Mercy  as  they  entered;  no  one  else 
either  thought  of  her  or  missed  her  now.  But  Steve,  who 
was  strangely  pale  and  ill  at  ease  amid  the  general  glad- 
ness, Steve  gave  a sigh  of  relief  on  finding  tnat  she  had 
disappeared. 

Thank  GodP^  he  thought.  “Anything,  so  that  she 
may  not  hear  it  here  and  now,  before  I have  time  to  pre- 
pare her,  to  assure  her  that  it  shall  not  be  true.  Thank 
God  she  has  gone!^^ 

For  Mrs.  Eaymond  could  keep  her  happy  secret  no 
longer,  but  burst  forth  joyously: 

“ And  what  do  you  think  brings  us  all  here  to-night, 
when  James  only  came  home  a few  hours  ago?  It  was  be- 
cause I had  a present  for  you,  Polly,  that  is  too  good  to 
keep  from  you  longer.  A new  sister,  my  dear.  Ada, 
come  here.  DonT  blush  so,  my  darling.  Here's  your 
new  sister  iVda,  Polly,  who  is  soon  to  be  Steve’s  wife.” 

“ Steve’s  wife!” 

Steve  started  guiltily  at  the  words;  it  almost  seemed  to 
him  that  a sobbing  cry,  as  well  as  Polly’s  joyful  exclama- 
tion, had  echoed  them. 

But  that  must  be  merely  fancy,  of  course,  since,  thank 
Heaven!  Mercy  had  gone  away. 

A soft  storm  of  questions,  answers,  kisses,  and  coii- 
gratulations  followed. 

x\da  told,  blushingly,  how  the  engagement  of  marriage 


98 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


had  been  made  “ weeks  ago/^  but  Steve  wanted  it  kept 
secret  until  James  should  return. 

“ That^s  why  you  have  seen  so  little  of  me  lately/’  said 
the  proud  and  happy  bride-elect.  ‘‘  I felt  that  1 couldn’t 
see  you  without  telling  you^  Polly;  or,  even  if  I didn’t  tell 
you,  that  you  or  Mercy  would  be  sure  to  find  me  out.  By 
the  bye,  where  is  Mercy?” 

The  question  was  a simple  and  natural  one  enough;  and 
yet  if  the  bride-elect  could  have  known  how  it  turned  the 
heart  of  her  betrothed  lover  against  her,  she  would  have 
paused  long  ere  she  uttered  it.  But  which  of  us  really 
knows  anything  of  another’s  secret  heart?  And  poor  Ada 
was  no  wiser  than  the  rest  of  us. 

“ Ay,  to  be  sure,”  said  Mrs.  Eayrnond,  taking  up  the 
cue,  ‘‘  where  is  Mercy?  And  how  do  you  get  along  with 
her,  my  dear?  Where  is  she?” 

“ I don’t  know,  really.  She  was  here  a few  minutes 
since,”  Polly  was  beginning,  when  Mercy  struck  the  cur- 
tains aside  and  stepped  quietly  into  their  midst. 

“Here  1 am.  Cousin  Polly,”  said  she,  very  calm  and 
very  pale.  “ Did  you  want  me?” 

Her  appearance  created  the.  usual  sensation.  There  was 
this  peculiarity  about  Mercy’s  beauty  that,  under  whatever 
aspect  you  saw  it,  it  always  seemed  to  be  the  very  aspect 
that  suited  her  style  the  best. 

On  that  happy  evening  when  she  had  come  in  all  spark- 
ling and  rose-flushed  with  hope  and  love,  Polly  had  secret- 
ly wondered  at  her  brilliant  loveliness;  now  as  she  stood 
quiet  and  statuesque  and  pale  as  marble  before  them,  Polly 
again  secretly  decided  that  she  had  never  realized  what 
true  beauty  was  until  now.  And  Polly’s  private  and  un- 
expressed opinion  might  have  stood  for  that  of  the  whole 
party. 

But  Mercy’s  pallor  was  too  marked  to  pass  unnoticed. 
After  a few  words,  introducing  her  to  James,  who  seemed 


Ills  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


9!) 


quite  bewildered  und  dazed  by  the  new  acquaintance,  Polly 
cried : 

“But,  goodness  me,  Mercy,  how  white  you  are!  You 
look  like  a corpse,  child!  What^s  the  matter 

Mercy  smiled,  and  put  her  hands  to  her  white  cheeks 
and  softly  rubbed  them. 

“ Pm  cold,^^  she  said,  “ thaPs  all.  I stood  at  the  win- 
dow fixing  your  plants  until  1 am  chilled  through.  I 
always  go  pale  when  1 am  cold,  cousin.  Hadn’t  1 better 
take  the  little  ones  up  to  their  nurse?”  she  added,  quietly; 
“ they  look  sleepy.” 

All  this  time  she  had  not  once  glanced  at  Steve,  nor  he 
at  her.  A smile  and  bow  she  had  given  to  Mrs.  Eaymond 
and  Ada — appearing  not  to  see  the  latter’s  proffered  hand 
— and  a kind  word  and  a frank  hand-clasp  to  James,  but 
not  one  word  to  Steve,  who  sat  silent  and  with  downcast 
eyes.  As  she  turned  to  take  the  children  from  the  room, 
James  suddenly  spoke  to  her  earnestly: 

“ You  will  come  back  again?  Miss — I mean  Cousin 
Mercy — you  will  return?” 

Then  she  suddenly  flushed  and  smiled,  looking  more 
beautiful  than  ever.  At  the  same  moment,  if  any  one  had 
looked  at  Steve,  they  would  have  seen  him  cast  upon  his 
eldest  brother  a glance  of  vehement  hatred. 

“ Certainly  I will  return,”  said  Mercy,  gayly.  “ 1 
should  be  sorry  to  leave  your  company.  Cousin  James,  in 
the  first  minute  of  making  your  acquaintance.  I will  re- 
turn directly.” 

' She  went  upstairs  quietly,  without  flurry,  without  haste, 
chatting  softly  and  pleasantly  to  the  little  ones.  She  sat 
by  them,  too,  until  they  fell  asleep,  just  as  quietly  and 
calmly  as  if  no  ax  had  been  struck  at  the  root  of  her  hopes 
—as  if  the  beautiful  air-built  castle,  in  which  she  had 
thought  to  dwell  so  happily  with  Steve,  had  not  been  shat- 
tered. She  would  not  allow  herself  to  think.  “Wait,” 
she  said  to  her  heart — “ wait  till  bedtime  comes,  and  soli- 


100 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIN. 


tilde;  there  will  be  time  for  grieving.  Not  now — not  when 
they  might  see  and  know.  Wait!’^ 

Into  her  own  room  she  went  when  the  little  ones  were 
asleep,  but  she  only  stayed  there  a few  moments,  to  re- 
arrange her  hair,  and  rub  her  pale  cheeks  with  cologne 
until  they  glowed  again.  Then  down  to  the  parlor  again 
— to  James,  and  conquest. 

She  pleased  the  man  of  money  wonderfully.  She  was 
gay,  winning,  brilliant,  bent  on  pleasing,  and  so  successful 
that  even  the  women  owned  her  charm.  Steve  was  the 
only  one  who  did  not  yield  to  it,  but  grew  actually  gloomy 
and  sulky  when  she  gayly  rallied  him  and  congratulated 
him  on  his  approaching  happiness.  But  then,  Mercy  sug- 
gested, that  was  because  he  wanted  his  pretty  sweetheart 
all  to  himself,  and  wished  the  rest  of  them  out  of  the  way: 
and  it  was,  doubtless,  to  accommodate  him  that  she  pres- 
ently carried  James  away  to  the  piano,  and  monopolized 
his  attention  altogether. 

“ A splendid  girl!^^  said  the  man  of  money  to  his  moth- 
er, as  they  were  walking  home,  Steve  and  Ada  being  con- 
siderably in  advance  of  them.  “ The  handsomest  girl  1 
ever  saw!  Why,  she’s  a cousin  to  be  proud  of  I” 

The  little  mother  hung  a little  more  closely  on  his  arm. 

‘‘Yes,  she  is  handsome,”  she  assented,  rather  unwill- 
ingly, “ and  she  is  the  chief  reason  I had  for  hurrying  on 
this  match  of  Steve’s.  He  evidently  admired  her,  and  1 
was  afraid  he  might — ” 

James  interrupted  her  with  an  exclamation  of  im- 
patience and  disdain. 

“ What!  Steve?”  he  said,  contemptuously.  “ Steve, 
without  a dollar,  aspire  to  a girl  like  that!  If  she’s  as  sen- 
sible as  I take  her  to  be,  she  wouldn’t  look  at  Steve. 
Beauty  like  hers  has  its  actual  market  value,  and  Mercy 
Craven,  without  a penny,  may  yet  be  the  wife  of  a million- 
aire!” He  spoke  that  word  with  the  same  tone  and  air  in 
which  he  might  have  said,  “ the  wife  of  a king.”  Then 


HIS  OOUNTKY  COUSIN. 


101 


he  adaea,  more  quietly:  “ Not  that  I Iiold  with  such  non- 
sense myself,  as  you  know,  mother.  Kiches  should  marry 
riches,  and  1 leave  love  to  fools.  But  all  men  do  not 
think  alike,  you  know,  and  1 tell  you  that  Mercy  Craven 
is  beautiful  enough  and  brilliant  enough  to  marry — always 
supposing  that  she  plays  her  cards  properly — to  marry  a 
millionaire.^^ 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A WOMAN  SCORNED, 

From  her  dark  corner,  behind  the  curtains  and  among 
the  flowers,  Mercy  had  heard  the  merry  voices,  seen  the 
door  open  wide,  seen  Ada^s  radiant,  blushing  face,  and 
Mrs.  Raymond's  look  of  joyful  triumph;  had  seen,  too,  a 
certain  pale  distress  and  trouble  in  Stevens  glance,  as  for  a 
moment  it  met  her  own,  that  half  warned  her  of  a coming 
trial. 

But  nothing  warned  her  of  what  that  trial  should  be. 
He  was  her  lover.  Her  promised  husband  (for,  in  their 
stolen  interviews  it  had  come  to  that).  And  although  he 
had  confessed  to  ‘‘  a sort  of  flirtation  with  Ada,^^  which 
placed  him  awkwardly  with  his  family,  and  forced  him  to 
beg  her — Mercy — -to  be  patient,  and  keep  their  engagement 
a secret  for  awhile;  still  he  had  said  nothing  that  could 
prepare  her  for  the  actual  truth.  He  had  not  dared  to  be 
candid  with  her. 

The  more  he  saw  of  her  the  greater  his  passion  for  her 
grew,  and — necessarily — the  less  became  his  confidence  in 
her  affection,  and  of  his  hopes  of  winning  her.  Each  time 
they  met  he  feared  to  tell  her  that  which  might  estrange 
her  from  him. 

‘‘  ril  wait  until  I am  a little  more  sure  of  her  heart,^^ 
he  would  resolve. 

And  all  the  time  it  was  but  too  surely  his;  for  Mercy, 
having  no  doubt  of  his  truth  and  faith,  and  feeling,  there- 


102 


ms  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


fore,  only  just  so  much  jealousy  of  Ada  as  served  for  a 
spur  to  her  affection,  Mercy  truly  loved  him. 

And  this  is  said  of  a girl  who,  all  her  life  long,  had  hun- 
gered and  thirsted  for  human  affection.  Whose  natural 
loves  had  been  so  checked  and  curbed,  and  dammed  up  (as 
one  might  say)  within  unnatural  limits,  that  they  ran  with 
passionate  and  uncontrollable  force  into  this  new-found 
channel  of  her  love  for  Steve. 

This  passion  had  come  like  a new  life  to  her,  beautify- 
ing all  that  else  was  cold  and  bare,  rounding  out  and  fill- 
ing in  all  the  hard  squares  and  sharp  angles  and  aching 
voids  of  that  peculiarly  harsh  and  undesirable  ‘‘  lot  in  life 
unto  which  it  had  pleased  God  to  call  her.^^ 

It  had  softened  her  heart  and  sweetened  her  nature,  not 
toward  Steve  alone,  but  toward  her  mother,  Polly,  the  two 
little  children — all  the  world. 

Even  for  Ada  she  could  spare  a pang  of  pity — poor  Ada! 
who  had  loved  Steve  in  vain!  A rival  truly,  but  an  un- 
successful one,  and  therefore  only  to  be  pitied. 

The  girl  had  little  or  no  religious  training,  but  one  of 
the  first  effects  of  this  strange,  new  happiness  had  been  to 
turn  her  thoughts  toward  God. 

Not  in  the  sense  in  which  that  phrase  is  generally  used 
as  implying  that  she  gave  up  the  ‘‘  pomps  and  vanities, 
etc. — which  course  she  was  very  far  indeed  from  contem- 
plating, being,  on  the  contrary,  especially  jubilant  on  the 
score  of  her  lover’s  supposed  wealth,  and  the  worldly  tri- 
umphs which  it  was  to  secure  her — but  her  thoughts 
turned  heavenward  in  an  impulse  of  prayer  and  grateful 
thanksgiving  to  which  they  had  hitherto  been  strangers. 

God  grant  it  be  not  a cloud  that  presages  storm!” 
had  been  her  heart’s  first  cry  when  a foreboding  of  evil  came 
to  it,  and  when  that  foreboding  was  forgotten  and  her  hold 
upon  Steve  seemed  assured,  again  and  again  she  had 
thanked  God  for  so  great  and  strange  a happiness. 

In  short,  happiness  had  had  an  altogether  beneficial 


HTS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


103 


effect  upon  Mercy’s  niiture  (as  it  has  upon  all  human  nat- 
ure, 1 think),  and  all  the  soft,  sweet,  womanly  traits  of  her 
character  had  blossomed  and  expanded  under  the  iiiliu- 
ence  of  pleasure  and  joy,  as  flowers  do  for  sunshine  and 
rain. 

Never  was  sudden  frost  and  storm  more  fatal  to  the 
flowers  than  this  discovery  of  what  naturally  appeared  to 
her,  Steve’s  perfidy,  was  to  Mercy’s  happiness. 

Drawing  back  behind  the  curtains,  more  in  a moment- 
ary and  startled  hesitation  than  with  any  idea  of  playing 
the  secret  listener,  she  had  heard  the  words  that  had 
wrecked  her  hopes  and  proclaimed  her  trust  in  her  lover 
“ a trust  betrayed.” 

For  the  first  moment  the  shock  literally  stunned  her,  so 
that  it  was  from  something  like  actual  insensibility  that 
she  was  presently  aroused  by  the  utterance  of  her  own' 
name. 

Then  pride  came  to  the  rescue  instantly.  What  had 
Steve  thought  of  her,  meant  by  her,  taken  her  for?  she 
asked  herself  when  he,  the  actual  betrothed  of  another 
woman,  could  so  cruelly  and  falsely  deceive  her? 

She  did  not  stop  to  consider  that  the  love-making  be- 
tween them  had  been,  in  its  beginning,  quite  as  much  of 
her  own  initiating  as  of  Steve’s;  which  of  us  does,  when 
freshly  smarting  under  a bitter  wound,  pause  to  accurate- 
ly adjust  the  blame  upon  the  proper  shoulders? 

He  had  deceived  her  with  false  promises,  misled  her  by 
false  hopes,  perhaps  intended  her  still  worse  wrong  and  in- 
sult; to  her  excited  feelings  all  seemed  possible. 

In  that  first  pang  of  jealous  anguish  and  love  betrayed, 
she  almost  hated  Steve. 

‘‘  He  has  been  playing  with  his  pretty  country  cousin,” 
she  thought,  bitterly;  ‘‘  I’ll  make  him  think  I was  only 
fooling,  too;  I’ll  die  before  he  shall  know  that  I care!” 

And  she  came  from  her  hiding-place,  cold,  and  calm. 


104 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


and  smiling,  without  a sign  of  the  agony  that  smile  con- 
cealed, except  the  pallor  of  her  lovely  face. 

How  she  laughed,  jested,  spread  her  net  and  wove  her 
spells,  through  the  hours  that  followed,  has  been  told. 
Certain  it  is  that  she  sent  two  lovers  home  that  night, 
where  there  had  been  but  one,  and  that  she  knew  it. 

“ 1 can  have  James,  the  elder  brother,  the  richest  broth- 
er, if  I choose,^'’  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  looked  in  her 
glass  that  night.  ‘‘I  know  1 can!  Steve  shall  see  that 
his  betters  are  glad  and  proud  to  marry  me!^^  Then  sud- 
denly she  struck  her  hands  together  with  a bitter  cry: 

His  betters!  I thought  there  was  not  one  in  the  world 
to  equal  my  love!  My  love!^^  And  with  these  words 
the  tears  gushed  forth,  but  only  to  be  dashed  away,  with 
swift-recurring  anger  and  wounded  pride.  “ He  is  not 
Worth  a tear!  What  has  made  me  fancy  that  I loved  him? 
I have  known  men  worth  ten  of  him  that  could  not  have 
won  a smile  from  me!^^  And  swift  before  the  eyes  of  her 
mind  arose  the  various  suitors  whom  she  had  despised. 

Ah,  there  was  not  one  of  them  like  Steve!  I love  him! 
I love  him!  I may  confess  it  here,  to  my  own  heart, 

I love  him!  x\nd  1 must  see  another  woman  his  wife. 
‘ Stevens  wife,’  they  said — oh,  how  the  words  stab  me! 
What  will  the  reality  be,  when  it  comes?  And  how  glad, 
and  bright,  and  proud  she  looked,  while  my  heart  was 
broken!  And  yet” — with  a sudden  consoling  reflection— 
“ her  happiness  found  no  echo  in  him,  I noticed;  and  he 
was  silent,  sullen,  inwardly  raging  with  jealousy  while  I 
flirted  with  James.  Does  he  love  me,  then,  in  spite  of  all? 
Oh,  I hope  so!”  She  sprung  up,  her  cheeks  crimson,  her 
eyes  flashing,  her  hands  clasped  and  wrung  passionately. 
‘‘  Oh,  I hope  so,  that  I may  be  revenged!  That  I may 
make  him  feel  as  I feel  now,  may  tempt  him,  torture  him, 
play  with  him,  let  him  taste  the  anguish  he  has  caused  me. 
If  I can  not  have  the  love,  the  happiness,  that  comes  to 
other  women’s  lives,  at  least  I can  have  revenge  on  him — 


HIS  COUNTUY  COUSIN. 


105 


ny,  and  on  her,  too!  There  vvonT  be  much  happiness  in 
her  married  life  when  she  sees  her  hiisband^s  heart  stray, 
as  Steve’s  heart  will  stray  from  her  to  me!  I’ll  hold  it, 
too.  She  shall  feel  that,  however  securely  the  casket  may 
be  hers,  the  jewel  has  been  rifled  by  me.  I’ll  play  with 
him  as  a cat  plays  with  a mouse,  and  when  I’ve  had  re- 
venge enough.  I’ll  marry  James  and  roll  in  wealth,  and 
laugh  at  all  of  them!  1,  the  poor  country  cousin,  the 
woman  they  scorn,  will  laugh  at  all  of  them!” 

She  was  far  enough  from  laughter  now,  poor  child,  at 
any  rate.  Up  and  down  her  room  she  paced,  up  and 
down,  for  weary  hours,  spurred  by  the  excitement  of  the 
inward  storm  that  would  not  let  her  rest.  And  when,  at 
last.  Nature  so  far  asserted  her  claims  that  bodily  fatigue 
overcame  mental  torture,  and  she  threw  herself,  all  dressed 
as  she  was,  upon  the  bed,  even  then  wild  thoughts  of  jeal- 
ousy and  vengeance  kept  the  needed  sleep  away.  She  lay 
and  listened  to  the  solemn  tones  that  told  of  the  departure 
of  the  hours — lay  and  watched  the  gray,  bleak,  wintery 
dawn  chase  the  shadows  of  night  away.  When  it  was 
barely  daylight,  and  she  could  hear  the  quiet  movements  of 
the  servants  going  about  their  morning  duties  long  before 
the  sun^was  up,  she  arose  softly  and  prepared  to  go  out 
into  the  streets. 

I look  like  a ghost,”  she  sighed,  as  she  glanced  at  her 
mirror.  ‘‘  But  the  air  will  give  me  color;  and  that  pallor 
is  better,  any  way,  than  eyes  all  swollen  with  tears  would 
be.  They  shall  never  pity  me  as  a maiden  all  forlorn,  nor 
mock  me  as  ‘ a woman  scorned,’  Cousin  Steve!  From 
this  time  forth  I will  do  all  the  ‘ scorning;’  and  Steve  is 
the  last  man,  as  well  as  the  first,  to  whom  my  heart  shall 
ever  say,  ‘ I love  you.  ’ What  my  lips  may  utter  is  a 
different  matter.  I need  not  trouble  myself  about  deceiv- 
ing. Steve  being  false,  no  man  is  worth  believing — which 
is  rhyme,”  she  added,  with  a sad  smile,  as:  she  went  down- 
stairs and  out  into  the  street,  to  begin  a new  chapter  of 


106 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


her  destiny.  “ And  lliey  say  that  when  you  make  an  un- 
conscious rhyrne^  you  may  make  a wish  along  with  it,  and 
get  it.  What  shall  1 wish  for,  having  been  robbed  of  what 
1 wished  for  most?  Eevenge  only!  And  Cousin  James, 
with  his  wealth,  can  help  me  to  it.  1 wish  that  1 may 
win  my  cousin  James 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A WISH  PULPILLED. 

The  clocks  were  chiming  half  after  seven  as  Mercy  left 
the  house  and  turned  up  Madison  Avenue.  That  quiet 
thoroughfare  was  very  quiet  indeed  at  this  early  hour,  and 
the  few  passers-by,  intent  on  their  several  businesses,  took 
as  little  notice  of  the  pale,  thoughtful  girl  as  she  did  of 
them;  until,  as  she  approached  a crossing  made  by  the  in- 
tersection of  one  of  the  side  streets  with  the  avenue,  she 
almost  ran  into  the  arms  of  a man  who  was  coming  hur- 
riedly around  the  corner,  and  who  started  back  with  a 
muttered  oath  when  he  saw  her  face,  and  turned  his  own 
head  aside  as  she  raised  her  eyes,  and,  with  a hoarsely  mut- 
tered, “Beg  your  pardon,  miss,^^  passed  her  and  went 
down  the  avenue. 

Mercy,  though  startled  for  the  moment  by  his  rough 
oath,  was  too  full  of  sad  and  bitter  thoughts  to  give  him 
more  than  a passing  glance,  else  she  might  have  observed 
that  he  was  a tall,  broad-shouldered,  Italian-looking  sort 
of  fellow,  wearing  coarse  clothes,  and  having  a rough  fur 
cap  pulled  well  down  over  his  eyes  and  ears,  where  the  up- 
standing collar  of  his  coat  met  it,  so  as  to,  between  the 
collar  and  cap,  effectually  conceal  his  face.  But  there  was 
nothing  extraordinary  in  that  circumstance  on  a raw, 
cold,  early  winter  morning.  People  went  muffled,  sensi- 
bly enough,  to  protect  their  noses  and  ears  from  the 
weather. 

What  was  peculiar  in  this  man’s  conduct  was  that  he 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


107 


evidently  recognized  Mercy  and  avoided  her;  and  yet,  first 
making  sure  that  he  was  not  observed,  furtively  watched 
lier,  too.  In  fact,  so  much  interested  in  her  movements 
did  he  appear,  that,  when  a safe  distance  lay  between 
them,  and  he  felt  quite  assured  that  she  had  not  noticed 
him,  and  would  not  look  round,  he  turned  and  softly  fol- 
lowed her. 

She  walked  briskly,  still  urged  by  the  keen  spur  of  those 
cruel  thoughts  of  Steve.  The  winter  wind  kissed  her  soft 
young  cheeks  into  a rosy  glow,  and  the  bracing  air  and 
rapid  motion — to  say  nothing  of  an  inward  passion  and 
fire,  repressed  indeed,  but  nevertheless  leaping  out  every 
now  and  then  in  most  expressive  flashes  from  her  brilliant 
eyes  and  around  her  mobile  mouth — sent  the  warm  blood 
coursing  swiftly  through  her  veins  with  a vigor  that  made 
amends  for  midnight  vigils  and  want  of  sleep. 

Her  thoughts  were  all  of  anger  and  revenge,  but  this 
very  fact  lent  an  expression  of  strength  and  j30wer  to  her 
beautiful  features,  which,  because  they  were  beautiful, 
gave  them  a strange,  new  charm  to  one  who  had  hitherto 
only  seen  them  quiet  and  pale,  or  animated  with  merri- 
ment and  pleasure. 

And  such  a one  was  watching  her  as  she  came  out  of 
Madison  Square,  as  well  as  the  man  with  the  muffled  face, 
whose  secret  espionage  had  led  him  at  last  to  hide  among 
the  trees  in  the  park.  He  had  two  to  take  note  of  now  as 
he  came  from  his  hiding-place,  still  bent  on  following  her; 
for  he  had  been  quicker  than  she  was  to  see  James  Eay- 
mond  standing  at  the  gate,  with  eyes  full  of  admiration 
(and  something  more!)  fixed  on  her,  as,  all  unconscious  of 
his  presence  and  his  gaze,  she  approached  him. 

Was  she  thinking  of  the  wish  she  had  made  as  she  left 
the  house  that  she  started  so  when  he  addressed  her! 
And  did  she,  with  true  womanly  inconsistency,  take  it  rather 
amiss  that  Fate  should  give  this  sign  of  intending  to  take 
lier  at  her  word?  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  startled  look  with 


108 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


which  she  met  the  greeting  of  the  man  of  money  was 
scarcely  such  as,  from  a less  beautiful  face,  would  have 
been  calculated  to  please  or  flatter  him. 

“ You!^^  she  said,  with  an  intonation  that  chilled  him, 
until  the  ready  smile  and  altered  tone  that  followed  it 
almost  instantly  made  amends.  “Why,  Cousin  James, 
how  you  frightened  me!’^ 

And  she  gave  him  a half-reproachful  glance  from  those 
irresistible  eyes  of  hers  that  set  his  heart  beating  and  the 
blood  tingling  through  his  veins  after  a fashion  in  which 
the  cool  heart  and  cool  blood  of  James  Kaymond  had 
never  beaten  or  tingled  before. 

“ Did  Polly  send  you  for  nie?^^  she  asked,  as  she  slipped 
her  little  hands  around  the  arm  he  offered,  looking  up  into 
his  face  the  while  with  a most  enchanting  air  of  child-like 
simplicity,  “ and  is  she  angry 

It  was  most  skillfully  and  naturally  done.  Mercy  knew 
perfectly  well  that  Polly  had  not  sent  for  her,  but  the 
question  served  to  place  her  own  unprotected  and  friend- 
less position  strongly  before  Jameses  eyes.  As  for  him, 
looking  into  this  exquisite  face,  feeling  this  clinging  touch 
upon  his  arm,  hearing  this  softly  appealing  tone,  he  felt 
an  unreasonable  flash  of  sudden  anger,  that  poor  Polly 
should  assume  any  authority  over  the  beautiful  creature 
at  all. 

“ What  the  devil  should  Polly  be  angry  for?’^  he  asked, 
brusquely,  for  he  was  not  always  soft  and  smooth,  this 
politic  and  subtle  money-maker,  but  could  use  hard  words 
as  well  as  fair  ones,  and  dirty  tools  as  well  as  clean  ones 
upon  occasion,  too,  if  necessary  to  serve  his  ends.  But  he 
corrected  himself  on  seeing  her  startled  face — purposely 
startled  and  timid,  if  he  had  only  guessed  it — and  went  on 
more  gently  thenceforth,  patting  the  little  hand  upon  his 
arm  reassuringly  the  while.  “ I beg  pardon  for  that  ugly 
word,  but  why  should  Polly  be  angry?  She  didn^t  send 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


109 


me  to  you.  I haven^t  seen  her,  indeed,  but  why  should 
she  send  after  you  at  all,  or  be  angry  with  you,  Mercy?^" 
Mercy  shot  him  the  effective  glance  again—more  effect- 
ive than  ever  this  time,  because  there  was  a touch  of 
patient  pathos  in  it,  that — coming  from  such  a queen 
among  women,  was  really  quite  bewildering  to  James. 

“ I am  only  a dependent  in  your  sister ^s  house,  you 
know,^^  she  said,  with  quiet  sadness  that  somehow  seemed 
to  make  the  fact  a fault  on  Polly’s  part.  Only  a poor 
relation.  I hope  my  services  about  the  house  are  some 
small  return  for  the  cost  of  keeping  me  until  I shall  find 
some  position  wherein  I may  earn  my  bread,  but,  all  the 
same,  I feel  that  1 have  no  more  right  to  leave  the  house 
without  Polly’s  knowledge  and  permission  than  her  serv- 
ants have.  She  would  say  so,  1 am  sure.  But  I had  such 
a headache  after  our  laughing  and  singing  last  night,  cous- 
in. I am  a country  girl,  you  know,  accustomed  to  go  to 
roost  with  the  birds,  and  my  country  remedy  for  a head- 
ache has  always  been  an  early  morning  walk.  1 came  out 
before  the  household  was  awake,  but  since  1 met  you,  cous- 
in, I fear  I have  stayed  too  long.  What  time  is  it?’^ 

It  was  nearly  nine,  he  told  her,  and  he  turned  in  the 
direction  of  Seventeenth  Street  as  he  made  the  answer. 

‘‘I’ll  take  you  back,”  he  said,  quietly,  “and  Polly 
won’t  have  a word  to  say.  I’ll  warrant  you.” 

She  thanked  him,  quite  effusively  for  her,  and  away 
they  went,  still  followed  by  their  unseen  and  unsuspected 
escort.  He  contrived  that  they  should  pass  him  at  the 
gate,  and  thus  he  obtained  a view  of  both  their  faces— 
Mercy’s,  upraised,  brilliant,  confiding,  flushed,  and  beau- 
tiful; James’s,  admiring,  brooding,  smiling,  frowning, 
thoughtful,  doubtful,  all  at  once.  The  man,  whose  own 
face  was  muffled  out  of  sight,  stared  at  these  two  as  they 
passed  by,  and  gave  a long,  low  whistle. 

“By  Jove,  but  she’s  a beauty,  and  no  mistake!”  he 
muttered,  as  he  slouched  after  them;  “ and  she’s  got  that 


110 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


rich  fish  fairly  on  her  hook,  if  shefil  only  have  sufficient 
sense  to  land  him!'’^ 

The  fish  was  nibbling,  beyond  all  doubt.  James  Eay- 
mond  walked  beside  his  beautiful  companion,  sensible  that 
his  feelings  toward  her  were  different  to  any  that  he  had 
ever  experienced  toward  any  living  creature  in  the  world. 
It  was  not  only  passion  that  possessed  him — a mere  covet- 
ing of  so  much  beauty  and  grace  to  have  and  hold  for  his 
own.  He  went  further  than  that.  His  sentiments  to- 
ward her  almost  approached  generosity,  and  he  had  never 
been  generous,  even  in  thought,  before.  He  resented  her 
position  in  PolIy^s  household,  was  angry  at  the  possibility 
of  fault  being  found  with  her,  regretted  her  poverty — for 
her  sake,  and  also,  perhaps,  a little  for  his  own.  ‘‘  What 
a wife,  if  she  had  only  money  as  well  as  beauty!’^  he  was 
thinking  as  she  talked  and  smiled  beside  him.  ‘‘But 
then,  with  money  and  beauty,  too,  she  might  pick  and 
choose  among  men;  now,  I suppose,  a fellow  with  a few 
hundred  thousands  might  stand  a chance — and  there  are 
plenty  foolish  enough  to  ask  her.  Plenty!  Ay,  scores!’^ 
as  if  arguing  the  subject  and  defending  such  a course  to 
himself.  “And  why  not?  Men  have  their  own  ways  of 
spending  their  wealth— why  not  buy  beauty,  if  that^s  their 
fancy?  But— but  — half  doubtingly — “ I donT  think  it 
ever  would  be  mine,  unless  money  went  hand  in  hand 
with  it.^’ 

He  had  been  so  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts  that  he 
liad  not  heeded  her  prattle,  and  now  broke  in  upon  it 
abruj^tly. 

“ You  spoke  just  now  about  getting  a place  to  earn  your 
own  living,’^  he  said,  brusquely.  “ Governess,  I suppose, 
or  something  of  the  kind.  But  what  nonsense,  Mercy! 
You  will  stay  with  Polly,  and  by  and  by,  when  you\e  gone 
into  society  a little,  marry  some  rich  man.  A girl  like 
you  ought  to  marry  her  fortune,  you  know.  I)on/t  you 
think  so?^^ 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


Ill 


She  looked  up  into  his  eyes  and  shook  her  head. 

“ Wealth  mates  with  vvoaltlu  I think,  cousin/^  she  an- 
swered, simply.  “At  least/^  with  a laugh,  “all  the 
lovers  I have  had  so  far  have  been  poor  enough,  and  there- 
fore suitable  matches — for  J am  poor,  you  know.^^ 

“ Perhaps  that^s  why  you  have  taken  none  of  them,^^ 
James  answered,  drawing  her  hand  more  closely  within  his 
arm  at  this  mention  of  “ all  her  lovers.'’^  “ Love  mates 
with  its  opposite,  somebody  says.  You  are  the  sort  of 
woman  that  ought  to  have  a carriage,  and  diamonds,  and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  Marry  none  but  a rich  man,  Mercy. 

Half  unconsciously  he  was  2)utting  in  a plea  for  hiinseK 
that  might  serve  in  the  possibilities  of  the  future.  8he 
laughed  as  she  replied: 

“ But  where  shall  I find  my  rich  man?  Eich  men  donH 
care  for  poor,  pretty  girls  like  me.  JNow  would  }^ou,  if  you 
were  rich,  cousin?^^ 

There  was  no  possibility  of  his  answering  this  jioint- 
blank  question,  for  as  she  asked  it  they  had  reached  the 
house  door,  which  was  standing  open.  Otherwise  Mercy 
would  not  have  asked  it  at  all.  James  took  it  in  silence 
as  a proof  that  she  knew  nothing  of  his  wealth,  and  that 
therefore  whatever  favor  she  had  shown  him  was  shown 
from  liking  for  himself  alone.  And  this  was  exactly  what 
Mercy  had  intended  to  convey  to  him. 

As  they  went  into  the  house  Steve  was  coming  out.  He 
started  at  sight  of  these  two  together,  and  frowned  darkly 
at  Mercy’s  smiling  face  and  merry  laughter. 

“ You  seem  to  have  been  enjoying  yourselves,”  he 
sneered. 

“ Oh,  yes,”  Mercy  answered,  brightly.  “ Cousin  James 
is  so  kind.  We  have  had  a charming  walk.  Come, 
James,  and  make  it  right  with  Polly.” 

And  she  went  on  gayly,  not  noticing  or  caring  for  the 
frowning  glance  that  James  bent  u2)on  Steve,  nor  the  look 


112 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIN. 


of  hatred  that  marred  Steve’s  bright  face,  as  he  watched 
his  rich  elder  brother. 

And  yet  there  was  that  in  the  faces  of  these  two  men 
that  might  have  made  one  shudder — remembering  Cain. 


CHAPTEli  XXIV. 

“You  didn’t  know  that  Mercy  and  I had  made  an  ap- 
pointment for  an  early  morning  walk  together,”  said 
James  Kay mond  to  Mrs.  Lester,  not  allowing  her  time  to 
put  the  reproaches  which  her  looks  were  full  of  into  words. 
“ It’s  a treat  to  me  to  find  a lady  who  is  an  early  riser, 
and  we  have  enjoyed  the  morning  air  hugely  without  in- 
conveniencing you,  I hope,  Polly,  since  I’ve  brought  our 
cousin  back  by  half  past  nine.  What  the  deuce  brought 
Steve  round  here  so  early?”  he  went  on  abruptly,  without 
giving  her  time  to  reply  to  his  last  remarks.  “ What  did 
he  want?” 

Now,  James  Raymond  was  “ a power  ” in  his  own  fam- 
ily, and  Polly  was  very  careful  not  to  offend  him.  Apart 
from  her  natural  sisterly  affection  for  him  she  constantly 
held  in  consideration  her  two  children,  who,  if  Uncle 
James  did  not  marry,  might  eventually  be  his  heirs,  and 
to  whom  in  his  favor  and  interest  must  in  any  case  be  ad- 
vantageous through  life.  His  attention  to  Mercy  filled  her 
with  a vague  alarm,  but  she  had  no  intention  of  offending 
him  by  showing  either  that  or  her  vexation — so  she  smoth- 
ered both  like  a politic  little  woman,  and  answered  him 
very  pleasantly: 

“ Steve  brought  me  a message  from  his  lady-love,  to  be 
ready  to  go  out  shopping  with  her  at  twelve.  They  are  to 
be  married  so  soon,  I suppose  she  wants  to  hurry  her  prep- 
arations. But  you’ll  take  some  breakfast,  James,  you 
must  both  be  hungry,”  with  a smiling  glance  at  Mercy,  as 
James,  complying  with  her  invitation,  took  a place  at  the 
breakfast-table  next  to  his  handsome  cousin.  “For  if 


ins  COUNTRY  (X)USIN. 


113 


such  R thing  could  bo  as  that  James  should  make  a fool  of 
himsclE  about  her/’ reasoned  Tolly,  rapidly,  “ 1 had  bet- 
ter be  in  the  list  of  her  friends  than  her  enemies,  any  way.” 

So  she  made  herself  unusually  agreeable  to  Mercy,  who, 
stung  by  the  mention  of  Steve’s  lady-love,”  exerted  her- 
self more  than  ever  to  please  James,  and  with  such  success 
that  he  actually  remained  with  her — ‘‘  fooled  the  whole 
morning  away,”  was  what  Polly  told  Dick  Lester  after" 
ward — until  x\da,  arriving  to  carry  Polly  off  shopping,  in- 
sisted on  his  playing  escort  to  them  both,  and  gaining  her 
point  took  him  away  triumphantly. 

But  even  then  he  left  more  of  his  heart  behind  him  than 
the  ladies  guessed,  or  than  he  would  have  been  quite  will- 
ing to  acknowledge  even  to  himself. 

The  regret  that  such  a lovely,  brilliant  girl  should  have 
no  money  sprung  up  more  strongly  than  ever  in  his 
thoughts,  but  only  to  be  checked  and  counteracted  (as  at 
first)  by  that  other  reflection: 

“If  she  had  wealth  as  well  as  such  beauty,  richer  and 
better  men  than  I might  whistle  for  her,  with  nothing  but 
trouble  for  our  pains.” 

And  then  he  smiled  half  contemptuously  at  the  idea  of 
James  Eaymond  desiring  a penniless  beauty  for  a wife,  and 
in  the  next  instant  frowned,  at  the  quick-recurring  con- 
viction that  plenty  of  other  rich  men  would  so  desire  her, 
and  that  one  of  them  might  carry  off  the  prize. 

“ They  shall  not,”  he  thought,  impulsively,  although 
next  instant  he  laughed  at  his  own  thought. 

In  short,  the  man  of  money  was  so  near  being  seriously 
in  love,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  that  it  already  needed 
only  the  additional  spur  of  a real  rival  to  goad  him  on  to 
the  perpetration  of  what  he  had  hitherto  considered  the 
greatest  of  follies — namely,  a marriage  which  had  for  its 
motive  and  object  love  alone. 

Meantime  the  girl  who  occupied  his  thoughts  so  en- 
tirely had  thrown  herself  upon  her  bed,  quite  ignoring 


114 


HIS  COU^sTRY  COUSITSr. 


Polly’s  charge  that  she  should  play  mistress  during  her  ab- 
sence^ and,  worn  out  with  excitement,  emotion,  and  want 
of  rest,  was  very  soon  fast  asleep. 

She  slept  long  and  soundly,  nature  and  youth  taking 
their  revenge  for  her  previous  night  of  wakefulness  and 
care. 

The  clock  had  struck  five  when  a servant  awakened  her 
at  last,  standing  by  her  bed,  with  the  words: 

“ Mrs.  Lester  has  just  come  in.  Miss  Craven,  and  asked 
for  you.^^ 

She  got  up  instantly,  and  bathed  her  face,  and  arranged 
her  hair,  preparatory  to  going  down-stairs. 

The  memory  of  her  grief  cmne  down  upon  her  like  a 
j)all,  as  sorrow  that  has  been  banished  by  sleep  always  does 
in  the  first  moment  of  awakening. 

Her  heart  felt  cold  and  numb  with  it  weight  of  care, 
and  as  the  thought  of  Polly  brought  the  remembrance  of 
Ada  to  her  mind,  she  actually  shuddered  and  grew  sick 
and  pale  with  the  bitter  agony  of  jealousy. 

“ I hope  she  has  not  come  home  with  Polly.  I hope  I 
shall  not  have  to  see  her,  and  talk  to  her,  perhaps  witness 
her  happiness,  if  he  comes  this  evening  also.  Oh,  I hope 
not!  If  she  is  to  be  here  I will  tell  Polly  I have  a head- 
ache, and — No,  I canT  do  that!  It  would  be  like  con- 
fessing to  Steve  how  much  I suffer.  I must  bear  it  and 
smile  and  seem  happy.  Happy,  oh,  God  help  me!^' 

She  dashed  her  gathering  tears  away,  and  went  dow]i- 
stairs  to  the  room  in  which  the  storm  had  burst  upon  her 
the  previous  evening.  Here  she  thought  herself  sure  of 
finding  Polly.  She  paused  a moment,  with  her  hand  upon 
the  handle  of  the  door,  to  press  one  hand  upon  her  rebell- 
ious heart,  and  force  a smile  for  that  possible  and  dread- 
ed meeting  with  her  triumphant  rival;  then  she  went 
quietly  into  the  room — no  one  there! 

It  was  a large  and  pleasant  apartment,  looking  peculiar- 
ly bright  and  comfortable  now,  with  its  orderly  stillness 


ms  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


iir> 

and  silence  undisturbed  by  human  presence,  and  its  soft 
carpets  and  rich  furniture  full  of  suggestions  of  warmth 
and  rest  and  ease.  It  was  brilliantly  and  yet  softly  lighted 
by  gas  and  fire,  and  heavy  velvet  curtains,  falling  in  rich 
folds  before  the  three  windows,  shut  out  all  sight  and 
sound  of  the  cold,  wintery  street,  where  the  snow  lay  thick 
and  the  wind  went  moaning  dismally.  The  three  windows 
were  of  a peculiar  fashion,  almost  as  deep  as  bays,  each 
one  of  them  holding  a stand  of  flowers,  which  the  curtains^ 
when  closely  drawn,  concealed. 

At  one  of  them,  the  furthest,  the  curtains  slightly  shook 
and  trembled  as  Mercy  entered  the  room  and  closed  the 
door  behind  her. 

“ The  draught  from  the  door,^^  she  said  to  herself,  and 
remembered  that  some  camellias  there — Polly^s  special 
pride,  and  which  she  (Mercy)  had  volunteered  to  take  espe- 
cial care  of — had  had  no  attention  that  day. 

“ I forgot  all  about  them,  poor,  pretty  things!’^  thought 
Mercy,  remorsefully,  for  she  was  fond  of  flowers;  and  it 
was  while  standing  in  that  very  window,  attending  to  their 
wants,  that  the  wound  from  which  her  heart  was  bleeding 
now  had  been  dealt  her.  “ When  I went  to  that  window 
last  night  — only  last  night  — how  happy  1 was!"'’  she 
thought.  ‘‘  But  the  poor  flowers  must  have  some  water."" 

She  turned  toward  the  door  with  the  intention  of  pro- 
curing some.  It  opened,  softly  and  suddenly,  and  Steve, 
entering  hastily  and  encountering  her  face  to  face,  stood 
before  her,  with  hands  outstretched  in  a gesture  of  en- 
treaty, and  her  name— uttered  in  a tone  that  made  it 
sound  like  an  anguished  and  despairing  prayer — upon  his 
lips. 

“Mercy!  Mercy!  At  last  I have  a chance  to  speak  to 
you — to  explain!  No,  no;  don"t  turn  away  from  me;  you 
must  hear  me!  Oh,  Mercy!  my  love,  my  love!"" 


116 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
together/" 

She  had  not  turned  away,  but  she  had  shrunk  back  at 
sight  of  him,  as  one  might  shrink  from  a lightning  flash. 

“You!""  she  murmured,  “you!""  and  for  some  seconds 
could  say  no  more,  but  stood  with  one  small  white  hand 
resting  upon  the  table,  as  if  to  steady  and  support  the  form 
that  was  trembling  violently.  Oddly  enough,  those  heavy 
velvet  curtains  at  the  furthest  window  trembled  strangely 
too,  though  to  be  sure  the  draught  caused  by  Steve"s  en- 
trance might  have  been  to  blame  for  that.  Anyhow, 
Mercy  and  Steve  had  something  else  to  think  of  than  such 
a trifle,  and  so  the  strange  sympathy  with  Mercy"s  emotion 
displayed  by  one  pair  of  curtains  out  of  three  passed  un- 
noticed. 

But  when  Steve,  with  his  impassioned  cry,  came  forward 
as  if  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  Mercy  shrunk  back  indeed, 
and  with  a look  of  anger  so  intense  that  it  was  almost 
a look  of  loathing. 

“ Don"t  come  nearer!  Don"t  touch  me!""  she  cried,  in 
a strange,  smothered,  passionate  voice.  “You  — you 
traitor!"" 

But  he  rebelled  instantly  at  that  name.  And  as  Mercy 
saw  all  the  boyish  eagerness  of  his  love-making  reflected  in 
the  boyish  eagerness  of  his  defense,  she  was  touched  and 
moved  to  listen  to  it. 

“ You  shall  not  call  me  traitor,  you  shall  not!  1 am 
true  to  you  and  will  be  true.  Do  you  think  I mean  to 
marry  Ada  and  put  an  insuperable  barrier  between  you 
and  me?  You  must  think  me  mad  then!  Love,  I would 
rather  blow  my  brains  out  than  marry  any  woman  but 
you!  Listen!  Give  me  some  chance  to  explain  all  to 
you!  Don"t  condemn  me  and  throw  me  over  unheard!  1 


HTS  OOUNTUY  COUSTN'. 


117 


swear  I mean  well  and  truly  by  you,  Mercy.  She — that 
other  woman — may  have  cause  to  call  me  a traitor  indeed, 
but,  love,  not  you!  Not  you!^^ 

And  again  he  came  toward  her,  and  would  have  caught 
her  to  his  breast,  but  again  she  shrunk  from  him  ami  re- 
pulsed him. 

“ We  both  have  cause!^^  she  answered  him,  speaking 
still  in  that  suppressed,  passionate  voice,  while  her  splen- 
did eyes  poured  lightnings  of  reproach  and  love  upon  him. 
“ You  are  false  to  both  of  us!  She  believes  that  you  love 
her,  that  you  will  marry  her;  the  very  fact  that  you  have 
allowed  any  woman  to  even  think  such  a thing  is  base 
and  cruel  treachery  to  me!  You  were  sworn  to  me  as  my 
lover;  you  are  betrothed  to  her  as  her  husband;  is  not  this 
being  false  to  both?  But  I don^t  call  you  to  account  for 
wronging  her;  my  own  wrong  is  enough  for  me  to  deal 
with.  You  have  betrayed  my  trust  and  broken  my  heart. 
Oh,  yes!  Although  I smile  and  flirt  with  your  brother 
James — or  any  other— and  shall  marry  some  wealthier 
man  than  you,  and  live  through  a long  life  of  pride  and 
prosperity,  in  spite  of  all  this  you  have  done  me  a wrong 
that  nothing  can  ever  atone  for!  You  have  destroyed  my 
trust  in  human  nature;  you  have  crushed  the  dearest 
hopes  of  my  woman’s  heart;  you  have  blighted  my  happi- 
ness, I was  a trusting,  loving  girl.  I shall  be  henceforth 
a calculating,  heartless,  and  revengeful  woman!  Let  no 
other  man  trust  me,  this  one  man  whom  I loved  being  so 
false;  henceforth  I have  no  heart.  You— you  have  killed 
it!” 

The  passionate  vehemence  of  her  own  feelings  long  pent 
up  and  curbed,  now  suffered  to  find  utterance  thus  freely, 
quite  overcame  her.  She  lost  the  long-maintaned  self-con- 
trol that  had  sustained  her,  and  flinging  up  her  arms  with 
a despairing  gesture  and  a curiously  pathetic  little  cry, 
sunk  into  a chair  that  stood  beside  her  and  burst  into  a 
passion  of  tears. 


118 


HIS  COUKTRY  COUSIIST. 


The  effect  upon  Steve  was  extraordinary.  Never  had 
he  seen  his  proud,  beautiful  love  anything  but  mistress  of 
herself  and  her  emotions;  even  in  the  moments  when  her 
heart  had  seemed  most  tender  toward  him,  a certain  nat- 
nrah  pride  of  character  had  enabled  her  to  maintain  a re- 
serve of  manner  which  had  kept  him  in  ignorance  of  his 
own  power.  And  now  to  see  her  give  way  thus! 

To  see  her  tears,  to  hear  her  sighs,  and  know  her  love 
for  him  the  cause!  It  was  too  much  to  bear!  Ada,  his 
promises,  his  interests,  all  were  forgotten;  in  a frenzy  of 
love,  remorse,  delight,  he  flung  himself  down  beside  her, 
and  throwing  his  arms  around  her  strained  her  passion- 
ately to  his  heart. 

“ My  darling!^'’  he  breathed  between  fast-falling  kisses, 
which  she  did  not  repulse.  “ My  life!  Now  I know  that 
you  do  really  love  me!  Oh,  my  darling,  if  1 had  been  sure 
of  that  before,  1 should  have  been  more  candid  with  you, 
but  I feared  to  lose  you,  my  sweet!  my  love,  and  so  1 
dared  not  tell  you  all  my  difficulties,  nor  can  I now,  for 
some  one  may  interrupt  us,  and  I must  have  an  oppor- 
tunity to  decide  upon  out  future  course  before  the  crash 
comes.  Our  course,  dearest,  whatever  it  be,  since  you  love 
me,  we  will  take  together.  Only  let  me  say  now  that  this 
match  with  Ada  was  of  my  mother^s  making,  and  I was 
led  into  compromising  myself  with  her  before  1 saw*  you— 
the  one,  the  only  woman  whom  1 can  ever  love!  I tried  to 
keep  the  unlucky  engagement  a secret,  hoping  to  find  an 
opportunity  of  appealing  to  Ada  to  release  me,  but  she 
loves  me — 

Mercy  interrupted  him  with  a jealous  cry.  Her  arms 
were  round  his  neck,  her  tears  had  ceased,  her  eyes  gazed 
into  his  with  passionate  intensit}^  At  this  moment  she 
saw  but  him,  thought  but  of  him,  as  he  saw  and  thought 
only  of  her. 

'Jdie  sympathetic  curtains  in  the  distant  windows  trem- 
bled as  if  the  wintery  blast  outside  had  got  in  and  went 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


119 


wandering  ihroiigh  their  folds,  but  the  lovers  never  noticed 
them. 

Indeed,  it  would  have  needed  a blast  strong  enough  to 
tear  the  heavy  velvet  from  its  fastenings,  and  hurl  it  at 
their  feet,  to  arouse  them  from  their  bliss  of  tender  recon- 
ciliation, coming  after  estrangement  and  jealous  pain. 

Mercy  interrupted  Steve  with  a little  passionate  cry  that 
was  half  a sob,  and  stopped  his  utterance  with  a soft,  white 
hand,  half  pleading,  half  imperious. 

“You  shall  not  say  that  she  loves  you!^^  she  said,  re- 
proachfully. “ What  right  has  she  to  love  my  Steve? 
You  are  mine,  you  know,  if  you  love  me!^^  Then,  sink- 
ing her  voice  and  laying  her  soft  cheek  against  his  hair,  as 
he  knelt  beside  her:  “Do  you— do  you  really  love  me, 
Steve?^^ 

His  answer  may  be  imagined.  His  kiss,  his  close  em- 
brace, these  spoke  more  eloquently  than  words,  not  that 
words  were  wanting,  either. 

Warm  and  passionate  they  burst  from  his  passionate 
heart,  assuring  her  of  her  empire  there. 

“But,  all  the  same,  my  dearest,  it  is  but  too  certain 
that  Ada  is  attached  to  me,^^  he  went  on,  seriously  and 
anxiously,  when  this  love  episode  was  past.  “ And  1 can 
not  but  reproach  myself  with  having  thoughtlessly  and 
ignorantly  trifled  with  feelings  which,  before  I met  you,  1 
did  not  even  comprehend.  We  owe  it  to  her  to  make  her 
disappointment  as  light  as  possible.  She  is  good  and  gen- 
tle. So  gentle  that,  I hope,  she  neither  loves  as  you  can 
love,  my  darling,  nor  will  suffer  as  you  could  suffer.  1 
hope  and  believe  that,  when  1 tell  her  the  whole  truth, 
how  utterly  my  heart  is  yours,  she  will  of  her  own  accord 
set  me  free  from  my  engagement;  but  when  I think  of 
her  pain— 

Again  Mercy  interrupted  him  with  that  low,  thrilling 
cry: 

“ Her  pain!  Think  of  mine  when  they  speak  of  her  as 


120 


ms  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


your  intended  wife — of  you  as  her  lover!  Oh,  you  have 
taught  me  what  the  agony  of  jealousy  is — 

Steve  caught  her  hands  in  his. 

‘‘  As  you  have  me!  Love,  why  did  you  favor  James  so 
pointedly?  He  is  richer  far  than  I can  ever  hope  to  be. 
But,  if  his  wealth  can  take  you  from  me,  I think  I should 
kill  him,  Mercy,  though  he  is  my  brother!  Oh,  love!  say 
that  you  do  not  care  for  him!— that  you  care  for  none  but 
me!^'’ 

“ For  none  but  you!’^  she  answered,  frankly  and  fond- 
ly, and  giving  kiss  for  kiss.  “ For  none  in  the  world  but 
you.  You  are  more  to  me  than  wealth,  friends,  life — my 
own  dear  lover!  But  }^ou  must  deal  fairly  by  me.  I can 
not  endure  that  this  girl  should  even  look  at  you,  or  think 
of  you  as  hers.  I can  not  bear  that  you  should  forget  my 
jealous  suffering  in  considering  hers.  Let  this  very  night, 
or,  at  all  events,  to-morrow,  end  it.  I will  keep  out  of 
the  room  to-night,  that  I may  not  see  her  eyes  look  on 
you  as  if  you  were  hers,  and  to-morrow  tell  her  the  truth. 
Surely,  when  she  knows  that  you  do  not  love  her,  she  will 
not  even  wish  to  be  your  wife,  she  will  be  glad  to  set  you 
at  liberty. 

“ Glad  or  sorry,  it  must  be  done!^^  cried  Steve,  with  a 
sudden  sternness  of  tone  and  firmness  of  resolution,  the 
cruelty  of  which,  to  Ada,  he  did  not  actually  realize.  “ I 
can  not  fulfill  my  enagement!  If  she  refuses  to  set  me 
free— 

“ She  will  not  refuse!’^  said  a low,  sad,  tremulous  voice 
behind  them— a voice  at  which  Mercy  uttered  a shriek, 
and,  both  the  lovers  springing  to  their  feet  and  turning, 
found  Ada  West  confronting  them.  ‘‘  She  will  hold  no 
man  bound  who  wishes  to  be  free;  she  desires  no  man^s 
hand  unless  his  heart  goes  along  with  it.  I believed  that 
yours  did  so — you  taught  me  to  believe  so — 

Her  low  voice,  full  of  tears,  broke  suddenly  under  the 
weight  of  her  emotion.  She  caught  at  the  curtains,  beside 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


121 


which  she  stood — just  where  Mercy  had  stood  last  night — 
as  if  to  sustain  herself.  Tears  streamed  undisguisedly 
down  her  face — a face  as  sweet  and  pale  as  a white  rose- 
leaf.  For  a few  moments  no  one  spoke;  then  Ada,  gath- 
ering new  self-control,  went  on,  gently: 

“ You  must  not  think  1 meant  to  play  the  eavesdropper. 
When  Mercy  came  into  the  room  I was  looking  at  these 
flowers,  and,  thinking  it  was  my  lover,  and  meaning  to 
startle  him  a little,  1 drew  back  and  let  the  curtains  fall 
around  me.  When  Steve  came  in,  indeed  — her  voice 
deepened  here  and  her  bosom  heaved— “ I was  at  first  too 
much  shocked  and  overcome  to  make  my  presence  known, 
and  afterward  I thought  it  best  for  all  our  sakes  to  hear 
the  truth.  She  paused  a moment,  pressing  her  hands 
upon  her  heart.  “ And  I have  heard  it,^^  she  resumed,  in 
a voice  that  all  her  pride  could  no  longer  render  calm. 
“ 1 know  now  that  I have  no  claim  on  Steve,  for  he  be- 
longs not  to  the  woman  who  loves  him,  but  to  the  woman 
whom  he  loves.  'No  one  — she  looked  at  Mercy  here, 
but  shrinkingly,  as  if  the  sight  were  hateful — “ no  one 
can  dispute  your  right  to  a heart  that  loves  you  so"  truly. 
I yield  my  claims  to  yours.  Make  him  as  happy  as  I 
would  have  tried — 

She  quite  broke  down,  grief  would  have  its  way  in  spite 
of  pride.  With  the  instinct  of  the  hunted  animal  that 
steals  away  to  hide  its  wounds  in  secret,  she  also  turned 
to  fly;  but,  as  she  reached  the  door  and  opened  it,  Steve’s 
pleading  voice  arrested  her. 

“ Ada — my  dear  little  friend  and  sister — Ada,  say  that 
you  forgive  me!  I do  not  deserve  it^ — I have  deserved 
your  bitterest  reproaches — but,  oh,  forgive!” 

She  turned  her  sweet  face  on  him,  smiling  through  her 
tears. 

1 forgive  you  freely.  After  all,  what  is  there  to  for- 
give? We  can  not  help  our  hearts.  That  Mercy  has  won 


122 


HIS  COUKTRY  COUSIN*. 


yours  is  not  your  faulty  and  why  should  I blame  you? 
No;  I have  no  reproaches  for  you."^^ 

She  paused  one  minute^  her  hand  still  on  the  half- 
opened  door^  her  eyes  fixed  on  his  face. 

“ I thank  God  that  you  learned  to  know  your  heart  be- 
fore you  married  me/’  she  sighed;  then^  turning  away, 
Good-bye,  dear,  and  may  God  bless  you!  Marry  Mercy, 
and  may  you  both  be  happy!” 

At  that  instant  the  door,  forced  from  her  hand,  was 
opened  wide,  and  there  stood  James  Eaymond  and  Polly 
Lester  on  the  threshold,  and  from  their  faces,  pale  with 
consternation,  and  yet  black  with  anger,  too,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  they  had  heard  all  Ada’s  words. 

Steve,  after  one  glance  at  the  new-comers,  stepped  man- 
fully up  to  Mercy’s  side,  and  cast  an  arm  around  her. 

This  is  my  place,”  said  he,  in  a quiet  voicer,  but  with 
kindling  eyes;  then,  lower  still,  to  her:  “ The  crash  has 
come,  my  dearest.  Be  true  to  me— be  brave,  and  we  will 
stand  or  fall  together!” 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WHAT  JANE  CRAVEN  SAID. 

The  scene  that  followed  was  a stormy  one.  Polly,  who 
had  prevented  Ada’s  retiring,  inveighed  loudly  and  bitter- 
ly against  people  who  hadn’t  a dollar  to  their  names,  and 
about  whom  nobody  knew  anything,  presuming  to  inter- 
fere with  a young  man’s  prospects,  and  perhaps  leading 
him  into  folly  that  should  ruin  him  for  life. 

“ If  you  love  him,  save  him  from  himself  by  holding 
him  to  his  engagement,”  she  cried  to  Ada,  passionately. 

But  Ada  only  shook  her  head,  looking  deeply  pained. 

“ He  was  never  mine  to  hold,”  she  said,  simply.  “ 1 
would  not  marry  him,  knowing  what  I know  now,  for 
twenty  worlds!  Pray  let  me  go,  Polly,  my  presence  is  not 
needed  here;  pray  let  me  go!” 


HIS  C0U2STUY  COUSJX. 


u:] 

])iit  now  Jiiines  detained  her.  lie  had  not  spoken  one 
word  yet,  contenting  himself  with  looking  on  upon,  and 
listening  to,  the  storm — perhaps  remembering  that  the 
lookers-on  often  gain  a truer  knowledge  of  the  game  than 
is  possessed  by  the  persons  who  are  playing  it. 

One  deep  and  bitter  curse  had  been  imprisoned  between 
his  set  teeth — not  permitted  to  pass  his  lips — when  Steve 
went  and  took  his  place  at  Mercy^s  side;  but  he  had  not 
spoken  audibly  until  now,  when  he  placed  himself  in  Ada^s 
path  to  prevent  her  leaving  the  room. 

Let  me  beg  of  you  to  remain  here  for  a few  minutes,^^ 
he  said,  gravely.  This  marriage  engagement,  whether 
in  its  making  or  its  breaking,  is  a serious  matter,  and  in 
the  case  of’a  young  man  circumstanced  as  Steve  is— He 
glanced  at  Mercy  here;  the  thought  flashed  across  his 
mind — ‘‘  does  she  know  of  his  poverty?'^  Only  the  recol- 
lection of  her  light  words  that  morning:  “ All  my  lovers 
are  poor,^^  kept  him  from  enlightening  her  then  and  there. 
“ After  all,^^  he  thought,  “ she  must  know  it,  her  own 
mother  will  have  told  her, "and  so  he  let  the  subject  pass 
unnoticed.  In  the  case  of  a young  man  circumstanced 
as  Steve  is,  his  family,  my  mother  and  myself,  should  have 
some  claim  to  be  heard.  My  brother  appears  to  have  had 
the  rare  good  fortune,^^  pursued  James,  with  a manner 
and  tone  of  courtesy  most  unusual  in  him,  ‘‘to  win  the 
favor  of  two  charming  girls,  either  of  whom  might  make 
him  more  than  happy.  One  of  these,  our  dear  Ada,  has 
just  declared  that  she  will  never  marry  him;  the  other, 
my  charming  cousin,  Mercy,  has  apparently  arrived  at 
quite  a different  decision.  Well,  after  all,  this  matter,  so 
far  as  it  concerns  the  feelings  of  the  parties,  is  for  the 
parties  to  settle  and  decide  alone.  But  the  affair  has  also 
quite  another  aspect — a business  aspect — as-ISteve  knows, 
and  concerning  that  phase  of  it  it  is  only  right  that  I should 
advise  him.  Will  you  two  ladies  consent  to  take  a little 
time  to  reconsider  your  recent  decisions?  And  while  you 


124 


HIS  COU>.TKY  COUSIN. 


do  SO  leave  Steve  to  his  sister  and  me.  Believe  me,  it  is 
well  to  do  nothing  too  hastily  that  may  afterward  be  more 
easily  repented  of  than  undone.^’ 

“ 1 shall  never  repent  of  my  decision/’  said  Ada,  quiet- 
ly. “ To  marry  Steve  now  would  be  to  me  impossible, 
lie  loves  Mercy.  All  the  reconsidering  in  the  world  can 
not  alter  that.  I wish  him  all  happiness — and  good-even- 
ing to  you  all.  Polly,  1 will  go  home.'’^ 

And  without  another  word  she  left  them. 

Then  Mercy  turned  to  Steve. 

“ I shall  not  alter  my  decision  unless  at  your  request,^^ 
she  said  to  him,  tenderly;  for  answer  to  which  he  clasped 
and  kissed  her. 

She  blushed  crimson  at  this  caress,  given  before  un- 
friendly eyes,  for  in  the  glance  of  Polly  she  saw  hate,  and 
in  that  of  James  a keen  and  jealous  envy.  She  gently  dis- 
engaged herself  from  Steve’s  embrace. 

“ 1 will  leave  you’  to  listen  to  your  brother’s  advice,” 
she  said,  softly,  and  remember  you  are  not  bound  to  me 
one  moment  longer  than  you  wish  to  be  so.  You  shall 
find  that  1 can  be  generous  as  well  as  Ada!”  Then  she 
turned  to  James,  “ Advise  Steve  for  his  good,  dear  Cous- 
in James,”  she  said,  winningly,  “ and  understand  that  he 
is  still  free,  though  ” — and  her  eyes  lent  an  additional 
meaning  to  these  next  words^ — “ though  I shall  hold  myself 
bound  to  him  so  long  as  he  chooses  to  claim  me.  And 
now,”  she  moved  toward  the  door,  “ I will  leave  you  to- 
gether, as  you  wish,  and  go  to  my  own  room.” 

But  at  this  Polly  broke  out  passionately. 

“ To  your  own  home!”  she  cried,  stamping  her  foot 
violently.  “ You  shall  go  to  your  own  home,  Mercy 
Craven,  for  1 will  no  longer  keep  such  a firebrand  and 
mischief-maker  in  mine!  Pack  up  your  things;  by  the 
first  train  to-morrow  morning  you  shall  return  to  your 
mother!  I wish  it  was  possible  to  send  you  off  to-night!” 
“It  is!”  answered  Mercy,  proudly.  “Not  for  worlds 


HIS  cou:ntry  cousin. 


vr> 

would  I pass  another  night  under  your  roof.  There  is  a 
train  at  eleven.  I shall  go  by  that.  My  preparations  will 
be  very  quickly  made.  James,  good-bye. She  held  out 
her  hand  to  him.  ‘‘  You  have  been  most  kind  to  me. 
Steve,  1 shall  see  you  presently. 

“ 1 shall  go  with  you,^'’  cried  Steve,  impetuously.  “It 
go  you  will  and  must,  my  darling;  I shall  accompany  you 
myself,  and  take  you  safely  home — 

Jameses  voice,  insinuating  and  soothing,  interrupted 
him. 

“ iVfter  what  has  passed,  perhaps  Mercy  will  be  hap- 
pier, for  the  present,  with  her  mother  than  here,^^  he  said, 
softly.  “But  do  not  say  good-bye  yet.  Stes^e  will  take 
you  home,  if  you  please,  but  I will  bear  you  company  to 
the  depot,  at  least,  and  see  you  off,  my  dear  and  charming 
cousin. 

And  so  he  did.  By  his  seeming  kindness  and  modera- 
tion he  had  managed  to  keep  himself  so  neutral  in  the 
whole  affair  that  all  the  parties  to  it  looked  upon  him  as  a 
friend,  for  he  seemed  to  sympathize  with  all,  while  taking 
sides  with  neither.  Even  Stephen  made  and  felt  no  objec- 
tion to  his  accompany  thing  them  to  the  depot. 

“Take  care  of  her  while  I get  the  tickets,  Jim, he 
said,  darting  away  as  he  spoke,  and  thus  James  got  the 
opportunity  for  a private  word  with  Merey,  which  was 
what  he  had  been  striving  for.  He  took  it  instantly,  and 
his  face  was  pale  and  his  voice  shook  with  the  intensity  of 
his  earnestness. 

“ Mercy,^^  he  said,  “ let  me  say  a word  in  your  interest 
and  for  your  ear  alone.  It  is  useless  to  deny  that  this  is 
an  unfortunate  affair.  There  will  be  opposition,  which 
Steve\s  circumstances  hardly  enable  him  to  defy.  If  you 
persevere,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  you  may  have  to  waste 
years  of  your  bright  youth  in  a long  and  doubtful  engage- 
ment. But  I want  you  to  understand  that,  let  who  will 
oppose  your  wishes,  I am  always  your  true  friend,  who 


126 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSDsT. 


would  sacrifice  his  own  dearest  hopes  to  secure  yours — nis 
very  life,  if  by  so  doing  yours  could  be  made  happy.  None 
the  less/^;  he  took  her  hand — ‘‘  none  the  less  so,  Mercy, 
because  Steve’s  happiness  is  my  misery.  For  I also  love 
you  with  a passion  that  no  boy  can  feel,  and  it  would  have 
been  my  pride  to  lay  my  fortune  at  your  feet.  You  are 
too  generous  to  betray  my  disappointment  to  my  move 
fortunate  rival, he  added,  hastily,  as  Steve  approached. 
“ Keep  my  unhappy  secret.  1 have  revealed  it  only  that 
you  may  know  how  devoted  will  be  the  service,  should  you 
ever  accept  it,  of  him  who  can  never  hope  to  be  more  to 
you,  now,  than  your  loving  cousin  and  true  friend. 

Steve’s  return  prevented  Mercy  giving  any  answer,  ex- 
cept a grateful  little  pressure  of  the  hand,  which  told  him 
she  understood  and  pitied  him. 

Another  minute  and  good-bye  was  said;  Steve  and 
Mercy  took  their  places  in  the  train  and  were  whirled 
away. 

But  pity  is  akin  to  love,^’  muttered  James;  “ and  she 
will  think  of  me,  at  least.  That^s  a step  gained.  Her 
thoughts  will  not  be  all  her  lover’s,  now  that  she  knows 
she  may  make  such  a much  better  match.  The  next  thing 
is  to  get  Steve  quite  out  of  her  way.  I must  manage  that. 
Meantime,  she  will  think  of  me.” 

He  was  right  there;  she  did  think  of  him,  wondering 
how  much  richer  he  might  really  be  than  Steve,  and  feel- 
ing quite  sure  that  it  was  far  better  to  marry  Steve  upon 
thousands  than  James,  or  any  one  else,  upon  millions  of 
money.  She  was  tempted  to  ask  Steve  what  his  means 
really  were,  but  refrained,  remembering  that  her  mother 
would  inevitably  spare  her  the  trouble. 

But  Jane  Craven  asked  no  questions  as  to  Stephen’s 
means;  she  already  knew  the  eircumstances  of  the  whole 
Eaymond  family.  What  she  did  ask,  first,  as  soon  as  the 
surprise  of  Mercy’s  unlooked-for  return  was  over,  was, 
simply : 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


127 


“ What  is  wrong,  then?  What  does  this  mean?^’ 

Mercy  answered  promptly.  She  looked  even  more  than 
usually  beautiful — her  eyes  aglow,  her  cheeks  like  roses, 
her  whole  air  triumjihant.  She  thought  she  was  about  to 
give  her  mother  a most  agreeable  surprise. 

Steve  stood  watching  her,  a little  less  confident,  perhaps, 
but  smiling  happily  and  proudly  too.  Said  Mercy: 

“It  means,  mother,  that  I had  worn  my  welcome  out. 
Polly  was  never  very  willing  to  have  me,  and  when  she 
learned  .that  her  brother  had  asked  me  to  be  his  wife,  and 
that  I had  accepted  him — 

Jane  Craven  broke  in  abruptly,  her  keen  eyes  giving  an 
anxious  glance  at  Steve: 

“ Accepted  him — without  consulting  me!  Which  of  her 
brothers,  then?  James— is  it  James?’ ^ 

Mercy  shrunk  a little  before  her  mother’s  earnestness; 
Steve  grew  pale. 

“ James— no,”  Mercy  answered,  but  less  quickly  than 
before.  “ 1 never  saw  James  until  yesterday,  mother. 
No,”  she  turned  to  her  young  lover  here,  “ I am  engaged 
to  Steve.” 

Jane  Craven  sprung  up  with  a cry  of  rage: 

“ To  Steve!  Ridiculous!  an  absurdity!  How  dare  }^ou 
talk  such  nonsense  to  me?  Steve  is  a boy!  Steve  doesn’t 
possess  a dollar  in  the  world,  any  more  than  you  do  your- 
self! You,  my  daughter,  for  whom  I’ve  saved  and  toiled 
and  planned,  married  to  a man  who  hasn’t  a penny!” 
She  paused  for  breath  and  glared  upon  them  both,  quite 
white  with  fear  and  anger.  “ Never!  you  shall  never 
marry  him,  unless  with  your  mother’s  curse  upon  your 
head!  I’d  rather  put  you  into  your  coffin!  I would 
rather,  ay,  a thousand  times  rather,  see  you  dead!” 


128 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 
mercy's  decision. 

After  this  outburst  there  was  silence  for  a little  while. 

Mercy  dropped  into  a chair  beside  which  she  had  been 
standing,  and  looked  first  at  Steve  and  then  at  her  moth- 
er, and  then  back  again  to  Steve,  like  one  stunned.  At 
last  slie  spoke — only  a few  words,  and  those  in  a tone  of 
utter  bewilderment  and  disappointment. 

“ Steve  poor!  Poor!  It  can't  be  possible!" 

‘‘It  is  not  only  possible,  but  true,"  answered  Mrs.  Cra- 
ven, scornfully,  “ unless  I am  out  in  my  reckoning.  If 
so,  there  he  stands,  let  him  deny  it!  And  I must  say, 
Stephen  Raymond,"  she  added,  turning  upon  him  a glance 
of  bitter  contempt — “ I must  say  that  your  conduct  would 
have  been  more  honorable  had  you  told  my  daughter  your 
true  circumstances,  instead  of  deceiving  her — " 

Mercy  broke  in  passionately  before  Steve  had  time  to 
answer  one  word. 

“ He  did  not  deceive  me!  No  word  about  means  or 
money  passed  between  us.  I thought  the  Raymonds  were 
all  well  off,  and  I had  no  way  of  learning  otherwise.  If 
there  has  been  deception,  I have  deceived  ni3^self.  I knew 
Steve  was  not  so  rich  as  James,  of  course,  but  I " — she 
suddenly  held  out  both  hands  to  her  lover,  who  stood  be- 
fore her  silent  and  pale — “ but  I loved  him!" 

The  tender  passion  of  her  gesture  and  her  words  brought 
him  instantly  to  her  side. 

“ Oh,  Steve!"  she  cried,  pleading  to  him  with  such  soft 
and  loving  womanliness  that  her  mother  gazed  on  her  with 
amazement.  “ Hear  Steve,  say  that  it  is  not  true.  Tliat 
you  are  not  poor,  that  we  shall  not  be  parted." 

Those  last  six  words  were  very  significant.  Jane  Craven 
heard  them  with  a kind  of  triumph. 


ms  COUKTKY  COUSIK. 


1:39 


“ So!^^  she  thought,  “ the  child  is  not  very  far  gone  in 
her  love-madness.  She  sees  that  his  poverty  must  part 
them!  All's  well.  1 can  manage  a love  like  that!"  while 
poor  Steve,  looking  at  the  beautiful,  pleading,  tender 
creature  with  eyes  full  of  mingled  passion  and  reproach, 
asked  himself: 

“Is  this  real  love  that  can  allow  my  j)Overty  to  part 
us?" 

But  to  her  he  said,  very  sadly: 

“ My  dearest,  you  have  said  truly  that  1 never  deceived 
you,  nor  will  1 ever.  I thought — if  ever  I thought  at  all 
about  it — that  every  one  knew  how  my  poor  father's  will 
left  everything  to  his  two  elder  sons,  Polly  and  myself  be- 
ing, at  the  time  the  will  was  made,  unborn.  But,  Mercy, 
we  are  both  so  young,  you  will  wait  a little  while  for  me, 
my  darling?  My  mother  will  help  me.  She  has  only  me 
to  think  of  now,  and  I can  work!  James  pays  me  a sal- 
ary, which  he  premised  the  other  day  to  increase — " 

But  the  poor  boy's  voice  died  away  in  a groan  of  despair 
as  he  recounted  his  hopes,  so  cruelly  did  the  conviction  of 
their  worthlessness  force  itself  upon  him.  James  admired 
Mercy.  Was  it  to  be  expected,  then,  that  he  would  help 
another  to  her  hand? 

Mrs.  Raymond's  heart  had  been  set  upon  his  marrying 
Ada.  Could  he  hope  that  she  would  not  only  forgive  her 
disappointment,  but  help  him  to  wed  another,  whom  she 
both  disapproved  of  and  disliked?  Oh,  no!  Even  a lover 
— a young  and  sanguine  lover — could  not  lean  long  upon 
these  wofully  broken  reeds  without  feeling  that  they  gave 
way  under  him. 

“You  have  come  to  laugh  at  me!"  he  cried,  bitterly. 
For  Jane  Craven  had  laughed  softly  and  maliciously.  “ 1 
talk  like  a boy  or  a fool  when  I talk  of  aid  from  my  moth- 
er or  James.  But  1 am  bewildered.  Until  this  moment 
I had  not  thought  of  ways  and  means  to  wed  you,  dear — -1 
only  thought  of  how  to  win  you — " 

5 


130 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


“ You  must  think  now,''  Jane  Craven  broke  in,  abrujit- 
]y.  ‘‘  And,  if  you  do  think,  you  will  confess  that  a mar- 

riage between  you  two  is  impossible.  You  talk  like  a boy, 
because  you  are  one.  1 will  not  say  you  are  a fool  into  the 
bargain,  because  older  and  wiser  men  than  you  will  love 
my  beautiful  girl,  and  one  of  them — who  can  show  wealth 
to  back  his  wisdom — will  marry  her.  You  can  not.  Look 
at  her!""^  She  drew  back  a little,  and  pointed  at  the  weep- 
ing girl  — more  beautiful  in  her  tears  and  pallor  than 
other  women  at  their  brightest  and  best.  “ Is  that  a 
woman  to  be  hidden  in  some  cheap  boarding-house?  or  to 
do  her  own  housework  and  nurse  her  own  babies  in  a 
couple  of  rooms?  1 am  speaking  of  marriage,  you  see — 
you  two  children  have  thought  only  of  love!  Marriage 
brings  cares,  responsibilities,  expenses.  How  do  you  pro- 
pose to  meet  them?  Come,  come,  1 am  sure  you  will  both 
acknowledge  your  folly.  There  is  no  harm  done  to  any- 
body if  you  part  at  once,  to  meet  henceforth  only  as  cous- 
ins and  as  friends.'’’ 

But  Mercy  spoke  out  here — her  eyes  glowing,  her  cheeks 
afire,  and  Jane  Craven  saw,  to  her  secret  consternation, 
that  her  allusion  to  the  ‘‘responsibilities”  that  marriage 
brings  had  done  some  serious  injury  to  her  cause. 

“ 1 shall  marry  no  man  but  Steve,”  announced  Mercy, 
resolutely,  no  less  to  the  astonishment  than  to  the  delight 
of  her  young  lover.  “ As  for  the  cheap  boarding-house, 
or  the  two  rooms,  or — or  other  disagreeables,  we  need  not 
encounter  them  at  all.  We  shall  simply  wait  and  work 
until  we  are  better  off  before  we  think  of  marriage.  You 
can  trust  me,  dear,”  she  said,  tenderly,  laying  her  soft, 
red  cheek  against  her  lover’s  breast,  and  looking  at  her 
mother  with  half-suppliant,  half-defiant  eyes.  “ 1 will 
wait,  and  get  my  own  living  as  a governess,  until  you  can 
offer  me  something  better  than  ‘ two  rooms.’  And  James 
will  help  us,”  she  added,  with  a triumphant  tone  and 
glance.  “ He  will,  when  you  tell  him  it  is  for  my  sake. 


HIS  COUJS^TKY  COUSIN. 


1:31 

lie  told  me,  when  we  jiarted,  to  ask  anything  I choose 
from  him — to  rely  on  finding  him  always  my  friend — 
always  ready  to  advance  my  wishes.  Say  to  him,  ‘ Mercy 
relies  on  you  to  help  us,^  and  see  if  he  does  not  prove  our 
friend. 

So  Stephen  jumped  at  this  extended  straw  interposed  be- 
tween him  and  the  sea  of  despair  which  had  threatened  to 
ingulf  him;  and  Mrs.  Craven,  sitting  silently  and  frown- 
ingly  thoughtful,  forbore  to  oppose  her  daughter  any 
further  just  then.  The  young  people  sat  down  at  last  to 
the  breakfast  which  they  sorely  needed  but  had  had  no 
time  to  think  of,  and  it  was  agreed  that  Steve  should,  im- 
mediately after  it,  return  to  town. 

“ And  let  us  say  no  more  about  the  matter  until  we 
learn  what  James  and  Mrs.  Eayrnond  will  really  do,"'’ 
Jane  Craven  said,  resignedly.  “ If  there  is  really  any  rea- 
sonable prospect  of  your  marriage,  1 shall  not — however 
great  my  own  disappointment  may  be-r-I  shall  not  oppose 
your  happiness. "" 

A decision  for  which  both  Steve  and  Mercy  rewarded 
her  with  grateful  thanks  and  fondest  kisses — all  uncon- 
scious of  the  sinister  smile  with  which  she  listened  to  their 
raptures,  quite  unsuspicious  of  the  secret  resolution  which 
she  had  formed  to  separate  them  at  every  cost. 

‘‘  But  Mercy  is  headstrong,  and  to  oppose  her  openly 
would  only  be  to  drive  her  to  some  folly,""  she  thought. 
“ Fortunately  I am  a patient  woman;  I can  wait."" 

She  did  wait  until  Steve  had  gone,  having  also  shown 
the  lovers  the  motherly  attention — with  which  they  would 
gladly  have  dispensed — of  accompanying  them  down  to  the 
depot.  Then,  as  she  and  Mercy  walked  homeward  again, 
she  quietly  asked: 

What  else  did  James  say  when  he  bade  you  good-bye? 
What  else,  and  what  more,  Mercy?"" 

And  Mercy,  understanding  the  meaning  of  her  mother"s 
tone,  and  anxious  to  convince  lier'^of  the  rich  man"s  good- 


132 


HIS  COUJSfTJIY  COUSIH. 


will  toward  herself  and  Steve^  told  her  all  that  James  had 
said,  as  far  as  she  could  remember  it. 

Jane  listened  quietly  to  the  very  end. 

You  might  marry  him/^  she  said,  when  her  daughter 
ceased,  “and  he  is  a millionaire.  You  might  have  your 
diamonds  and  carriages,  your  houses  in  country  and  town 
— be  a leader  of  society,  famed  as  the  loveliest  woman  in 
New  York;  and  you  prefer  Steve!  Some  curse  must  be 
upon  you,  surely!  Steve!  A boy — a penniless  nobody! 
What  a miserable,  senseless  infatuation!^^ 

Mercy  turned  hot  and  cold,  red  and  pale,  but  she  stood 
firm. 

“I  love  him,  mother,^^  she  said,  pleadingly,  “ and  be- 
fore I had  seen  James  at  all  I was  Stevens  betrothed.  ” 

Jane  answered,  sharply  and  coldly: 

“You  are  a consummate  fool!  Let  me  be  alone 
awhile,’^  she  added,  as  they  entered  the  cottage.  “ 1 am 
cruelly  disappointed  in  you,  Mercy;  leave  me  to  myself 
awhile  to  get  over  it. 

But  when  Mercy  obeyed  her — very  willingly  and  meek- 
ly, for  she  knew  her  mother^s  temper  and  had  expected 
harsher  reproaches  than  these — Jane  lost  no  time  in  idle 
regrets  or  repinings,  but  instantly  sat  down  and  wrote  a 
brief  note  to  James  Kaymond. 

“I  desire  to  see  you, she  wrote.  “You  have  pro- 
fessed yourself  Mercy’s  friend.  If  you  are  so,  do  not  en- 
courage her  in  a folly  which  she  will  regret  forever.  Give 
me  an  opportunity  of  seeing  you  privately,  and  let  no  one 
know  I have  written  this.  Come  as  if  you  were  coming  in 
their  interests;  but  write  me  first  when  to  expect  you,  so 
that  I may  have  her  out  of  the  way  for  awhile.  Write  to 
the  post-office.” 

The  next  day  but  one  brought  her  an  answer.  The  next 
day  after  that  James  Eaymond  arrived.  It  was  noon  when 
he  knocked  at  the  cottage  door^  where  Jane  Craven  sat 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


133 


alone  expecting  him.  Mercy  had  gone  an  hour  before,  at 
her  mother’s  request,  to  call  upon  an  acquaintance  miles 
away,  who,  Jane  said  she  had  heard,  was  most  dangerously 
sick  of  consumption.  The  girl  came  back  at  nearly  four 
o’clock,  tired  and  cold  and  angry,  for  her  journey  had  been 
a useless  one, 

“ I wonder  you  pay  any  attention  to  gossip,  mother,” 
she  said,  as  she  entered  impatiently.  ‘‘  Mrs.  Gray  was 
just  as  well  as  you  are  this  minute,  and  so  I went  on  a 
fool’s  errand.  Oh  ’’—and  her  voice  and  look  changed  in- 
stantly to  one  of  pleasure  and  surprise  as  she  saw  their  vis- 
itor— ‘‘  oh,  now,  indeed,  I am  glad  to  see  you,  cousin!” 
and  she  frankly  put  up  her  lovely  lips  for  a kiss.  ‘‘  No 
one  except” — with  a shy  glance — ^‘except  Steve,  of 
course,  could  be  more  welcome  to  me  than  my  cousin 
James!” 


CHAPTER  XX VII I. 

JAMES  MAKES  A PROPOSITION. 

“James  came  almost  immediately  after  you  started, 
Mercy,”  said  Mrs.  Craven,  sparing  James  the  necessity  of 
replying,  “ and  has  been  waiting  ever  since.  AVe  have  dis- 
cussed your  affairs  and  prospects  pretty  thoroughly,  I tell 
you;  and  I take  it  as  very  kind  in  a man  like  your  cousin 
here  to  spend  his  time  and  thoughts  upon  a foolish  boy 
and  girl  who  are  bent  on  rushing  to  their  ruin.  He  has 
infected  me  with  some  of  his  own  charitable  patience,  1 
suppose,”  she  added,  with  a grim  laugh,  “ or  I should  be 
tempted  jto  take  Mrs.  Raymond’s  course,  and  threaten  to 
disown  my  child  if  she  did  not  renounce  her  foolish  in- 
fatuation; but  James  seems  to  sympathize  with  lovers. 
Perhaps — and  if  so.  I’m  sure  I wish  him  success  and  hap- 
piness— perhaps  he  is  in  love  himself.” 

This  speech  had  been  carefully  prepared  and  considered. 

Mercy,  guessing  who  James’s  love  was,  gave  her  mother 


134 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


a quick,  reproachful  glance.  James  gave  them  both  a 
sigh  and  a sad  smile,  which,  with  Mercy,  were  decidedly 
effective. 

“ 1 am  not  at  all  ashamed  to  confess  that  I am  in  love,^^ 
he  said,  quietly,  “ nor  that  my  love  is  quite  hopeless.  The 
only  success  I covet  is  for  my  efforts  to  secure  the  happi- 
ness of  the  woman  for  whom  I would  die.  Personally,  1 
neither  look  nor  hope  for  happiness.  We  can  not  all  be 
so  fortunate  as  Steve  is,'’^  he  added,  with  a tender  sadness 
that  touched  Mercy’s  heart,  for,  seeing  him  so  ready  to 
acknowledge  Steve’s  claims,  there  seemed  no  treason  in 
her  pitying  him.  “ The  proverb  says  that  it  is  better  to 
be  born  lucky  than  born  rich,  and  surely  Steve  exemplifies 
the  truth  of  it.  1 would  joyfully  change  my  riches  for  his 
luck  any  day,  sweet  cousin.” 

“ You  will  have  much  better  luck  some  day,  1 hope,” 
she  answered,  earnestly,  at  which  he  sighed  and  shook  his 
head.  But  is  it  true  that  Steve’s  mo'ther  will  disown 
him?  Oh,  James!” — with  a little  plaintive  sob  that 
touched  him  (though  another  man  had  called  it  forth), 
strangely  and  strongly. 

So  he  hastened  to  reassure  her. 

‘‘For  the  moment  she  will  do  so,  no  doubt;  but  my 
mother  is  the  gentlest  of  women,  and  her  anger  will  not 
last.  All  that  is  necessary  is  that  Steve  shall  remain  firm, 
and  go  elsewhere  to  seek  his  fortune.  1 am  his  stanch 
friend,  for  your  sake;  but  I can  not  openly  oppose  my  be- 
loved mother,  Mercy,  and  therefore  I can  do  little  for  him 
in  New  York.  She  insists  that  1 shall  no  longer  employ 
him,  and  if  1 should  contradict  her  1 should  but  make 
matters  worse;  and  really  Steve’s  earnings  in  my  store 
amount  to  the  merest  trifie — he  will  do  far  better  when  he 
goes  away.  Don’t  look  so  pale,  dear  cousin  ” — for  Mercy’s 
face  had  changed  and  whitened — “ he  only  thinks  of  going 
to  California;  it  is  but  a trifling  journey  now,  you  know, 
for  he  shall  go  overland,  of  course.  Trust  him  to  me. 


JUS  COUNTRY  COUSIK. 


135 


Mercy;  I can  procure  him  a j^osition  there  in  a house  with 
which  I have  dealings,  where  he  will  be  able  to  earn  suffi- 
cient to  make  a home  for  you  in  a few  years — one  or  two 
years,  perhaps — while  in  New  York  he  might  toil  and  you 
might  wait  till  all  your  youth  was  past,  and  even  then  be 
poor;  besides,  when  my  mother  realizes  that  her  youngest 
boy — her  pet — is  so  far  away,  she  will  relent  and  recall 
him  and  consent  to  your  marriage,  rather  than  be  parted 
from  her  child;  and  I shall  be  near  her  to  work  in  Stevens 
interests,  and  urge  her  to  forgive  and  consent.  I offer  to 
find  Steve  a good  position,  to  pay  all  his  expenses  to  San 
Francisco,  and  give  him  a couple  of  hundred  dollars  in 
hand;  and  I make  the  offer  to  you  first,  cousin,  and  leave 
it’for  your  decision.  If  you  think  it  a good  offer,  counsel 
him  to  accept  it;  if  you  do  not  think  so,  tell  me  what  are 
your  plans.  Eest  assured  that  I will  help  them,  if  possi- 
ble. My  happiness  lies  in  securing  yours. 

But  Mercy  hai^  no  plans.  Like  her  young  lover,  she  had 
not  thought  of  ways  and  means  to  wed  him,  bent  only 
upon  wjiining  him  and  his  love.  He  was  won  now,  but  he 
could  not  be  claimed,  it  seemed.  People — even  lovers— 
must  needs  live,  and  to  do  that  something  more  substantial 
than  air  was  necessary. 

She  looked  wistfully  at  James  while  he  recapitulated  the 
advantages  of  his  own  offer,  and  assured  her  of  Steven's 
readiness  to  accept  it,  if  only  she  would  consent. 

It  hurt  her  a little  that  Steve  should  be  so  willing  to  go, 
but  she  would  not  say  so,  with  her  mother  lauding  the 
good  sense  of  such  a course,  and  James  suggesting  it  only 
as  the  very  best  way  to  help  them. 

She  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  as  to  Jameses  sincerity; 
she  believed  that  the  course  he  suggested  was  really  the 
best  way,  only  surely  Steve  need  not  have  been  so  eager 
for  the  parting  that  she  so  dreaded.  It  seemed  to  her  like 
indifference  on  his  part,  and  stung  both  her  affection  and 
her  pride. 


13G 


HJS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


‘‘  1 can  bear  it  if  he  can/^  she  said  to  herself,  proudly; 
and  it  was  this  imaginary  coldness  on  poor  Stevens  part — 
wholly  imaginary,  for,  in  fact,  he  had  thus  far  refused  to 
entertain  his  brother’s  offer  at  all — that  made  her  fall  into 
James’s  plans  with  apparent  readiness,  and  even  promise 
to  write  Steve  to  that  effect. 

“ For  you  must  keep  him  up  to  the  mark,  you  know. 
Steve  is  young,  and  something  of  a scatter-brain,  perhaps,” 
said  James,  with  good-natured  depreciation  of  his  broth- 
er, which,  though  vaguely  disagreeable  to  Mercy,  did  not 
go  far  enough  to  offend.  “ He  is  fortunate  in  having  won 
a pearl  among  women,  who  will  make  a man  of  him. 
Write  to  him  strongly,  Mercy — urge  him  to  make  no  de- 
lay, for  the  position  which  I can  secure  for  him  must  be 
filled  at  once;  and,  though  he  saw  the  advantages  of  my 
offer,  and  wished  to  accept  it,  yet  he  very  properly  left  the 
matter  for  5"ou  to  decide.  Let  me  take  him  your  decision 
back  to-night.’^ 

And  Mercy,  overpersuaded  and  overtalked  — afraid, 
moreover,  of  offending  this  one  friend,  and  unablQ  to  see 
any  other  road  that  seemed  to  lead  to  a hopeful  ending — 
Mercy  wrote — wrote  that  James  had  quite  convinced  her 
that  this  course  was  best;  that  Steve  must  be  brave,  as 
she  would  be,  and  sacrifice  their  present  happiness  to  a 
future  good;  that  she  was  willing  to  have  him  accept  the 
position  in  San  Francisco,  and  urged  him  to  see  her  at  the 
earliest  moment  possible,  and  then  depart  at  once. 

All  this  she  wrote  and  intrusted  to  James  to  deliver, 
and,  for  awhile — while  he  praised  her  good  sense,  and  pro- 
tested his  own  devotion,  and  afterward,  when  her  mother 
vaunted  the  virtues  of  this  noble  and  disinterested  lover — 
for  so  long,  Mercy,  excited  and  overwrought,  believed  that 
she  had  done  well;  but  afterward,  in  the  quiet,  lonely 
night,  reaction  came,  bringing  doubts  and  fears  along 
with  it. 

Steve’s  willingness  to  leave  her  rankled  in  her  soul. 


Ills  COUNTJIY  COVSIN. 


137 


tUid  that  careless  word,  “ scatter-brain/^  that  Janies  had 
uttered  so  lightly,  troubled  her.  Why  did  they  thus  de- 
jireciate  Steve?  Her  mother  had  called  him,  with  bitter 
contempt,  a boy,  a nobody!’"'  But  she  did  not  care  for 
that.  “ Scatter-brain  ” annoyed  her  far  more.  Had  she 
placed  her  hopes  on  one  whose  character  was  so  unstable? 
A memory  of  Ada  came  to  add  to  her  distress.  Ada  had 
not  found  Steve  either  stable,  or  stanch,  or  true;  nay,  he 
had,  in  a manner,  played  false  to  both— there  was  no  deny- 
ing it.  And  was  this  the  man  who  was  to  be  driven  away 
to  San  Francisco — removed  from  her  love  and  influence? 

Bitterly  now  did  she  regret  her  haste  in  having  written. 
Why,  Ada  was  rich;  she  could  follow  him  to  San  Fran- 
cisco if  she  chose.  “I  would,^^  Mercy  acknowledged  to 
herself.  He  was  her  lover  first.  ” She  had  not  the  least 
faith  in  Adah’s  declaration,  that  nothing  now  should  induce 
her  to  marry  Steve. 

‘‘  She  will  take  him  from  me  yet,^^  thought  the  passion- 
ate, jealous,  undisciplined  heart.  She  shall  not,  though! 
I will  not  let  him  go!  I love  him,  and  I will  not  live  with- 
out him!’^ 

She  fell  asleep  at  last,  upon  a pillow  that  was  wet  with 
tears,  soothed  by  a new  resolution.  Let  James  deliver  the 
letter,  and  let  Steve  come.  Clasped  in  her  arms,  looking 
into  her  love-lit  eyes,  would  he  then  be  willing  to  leave 
her?  No!  She  would  propose  a better  plan  than  this 
cruel  one  of  parting.  They  would  be  married  at  once, 
without  delay,  and  go  to  San  Francisco  together! 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A PROBLEM. 

Meantime  James  Raymond  made  his  way  toward  the 
depot — Mercy’s  letter  to  her  lover  lying  safely  in  an  inner 
breast-pocket  of  his  coat,  over  a heart  that,  burning  with 


138 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


mad  passion  for  the  lovely  writer,  alternately  swelled  with 
rapturous  hope  and  triumph,  or  grew  cold  and  sick  with 
involuntary  misgiving  and  fear.  lie  took  the  little  missive 
from  its  hiding-place  and  kissed  the  letters  her  hand  had 
traced,  even  while  he  cursed  the  name  they  formed. 

1 must  read  this  before  Steve  gets  it.  I must  know 
all  that  she  says  to  him,^^  he  thought.  ‘‘  He  shall  never 
have  her!  I will  separate  them  at  all  costs  1^^ 

For  this  sudden  appearance  of  a rival ^ — a favored  rival  — 
on  the  scene,  had  supplied  the  needed  spur  of  jealousy  and 
driven  him  almost  mad.  This  was  his  first  serious  passion, 
and  it  was  so  serious  that  the  very  thought  of  Mercy,  as 
another's  wife,  caused  him  to  feel  tortures  of  jealousy  so 
intolerable  that  they  goaded  him  past  all  considerations  of 
brotherhood  or  honor,  and  made  him  resolute  to  trample 
down  everything  that  stood  in  the  way  of  his  own  desires. 

To  this  resolution  Jane  Craven  had  undoubtedly  helped 
him.  Her  cold  and  calculating  sophistries,  her  merciless 
ridicule  of  “ this  boy-and-girl  love,^^  her  firm  assumption 
of  maternal  authority  and  right  to  shape  her  daughter's 
destiny — these  things  had  chimed  in  with  his  passion  and 
resentment  and  lashed  into  dangerous  activity  the 
thoughts  and  wishes  that,  but  for  such  a counselor,  might 
have  died  in  their  own  conception,  powerless  to  do  worse 
than  desire  evil.  But  now  the  evil  spirit  within  his  soul 
had  ‘‘  taken  to  it  another  spirit  more  evil  than  itself, and 
their  plotting  boded  ill  for  the  happiness  of  the  young 
lovers. 

“ I would  almost  rather  kill  my  child  than  see  her  ruin 
herself  by  a marriage  with  Steve!^’  Jane  Craven  had  told 
him,  passionately,  and  he  had  answered,  resolutely,  reas- 
suring both  himself  and  her: 

“ She  shall  never  marry  him!^^ 

As  yet,  however,  his  plans  went  no  further  than  the 
Hseparation  of  the  lovers. 

‘‘‘Part  Jane  Craven  had  urged* 


“ ‘Out  of 


ms  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


139 


sight,  out  of  mind,^  is  a true  saying.  Once  get  him  to 
California,  or  Europe,  and,  with  me  to  work  upon  her 
ambition,  the  game  will  be  in  your  own  hands.  Letters 
may  be  intercepted.  We  will  find  the  means.  It  has  been 
done  before,  and  can  be  done  again,  1 tell  you.  The  first 
thing  is  to  get  him  out  of  the  way,  and,  since  he  has  re- 
fused your  offer,  work  upon  her  so  that  she  will  urge  him 
to  accept  it.  Steve  out  of  the  way,  all  is  easy,  and  I can 
promise  you  Mercy  for  your  wife.  But  get  rid  of  Steve 

Those  words  sang  themselves  over  in  his  heart  and  ears 
as  he  traveled  the  quiet  country  lanes,  now  somewhat  lone- 
ly and  deserted,  in  the  gloom  of  approaching  night. 

It  was  nearly  eight  o^clock,  and  at  half  past  eight  there 
would  be  a train  for  New  York — the  only  one  until  the  ex- 
press should  pass  through  and  pause  for  a few  seconds, 
just  before  midnight.  He  gained  nothing  by  going  by  this 
earlier  train;  but  his  anxiety  to  be  alone — to  read  Mercy’s 
letter  to  Steve,  and  think  out  his  own  plans  for  getting  rid 
of  him — had  induced  him  to  leave  the  cottage  earlier  than 
was  really  necessary.  Besides,  to  talk  to  Mercy  about 
Steve,  to  see  her  undisguised  affection  for  another,  became 
at  last  a torture  past  endurance;  so  that  as  soon  as  her  let- 
ter was  obtained  he  was  glad  to  escape  from  it. 

“Howto  gee  rid  of  Steve!”  Over  and  over  again  he 
muttered  the  question  without  finding  any  reply.  No 
business  problem,  in  which  interest,  reputation,  large  sums 
of  money,  were  involved,  had  ever  interested  or  puzzled 
him  half  so  much.  A consciousness  of  this  fact  stole  into 
his  thoughts  and  startled  him.  What  a strangely  absorb- 
ing thing  was  this  love— this  madness,  at  which  he  had 
jeered  so  long?  Prom  somewhere  in  the  dim  past — in  the 
far-away  days  of  his  boyhood — came  a memory  of  some 
words  that  he  had  heard  in  a church  one  afternoon:  “ If  a 
man  should  give  all  the  riches  of  his  house  for  love,  they 
should  be  utterly  condemned.” 

“ True!”'  he  muttered  to  himself,  yet  perfectly  remem- 


140 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


bering  what  nonsense  he  had  thought  them  at  the  time. 

It  was  true!^^ 

He  had  not  much  hope  of  influencing  Steve  even  by 
Mercy’s  letter.  Steve’s  eyes,  sharpened  by  love  and  jeal- 
ousy, had  penetrated  his  brother’s  secret.  James  had 
found  it  impossible  to  misunderstand  the  answer  which  his 
California  proposal  had  received:  ‘‘  What!  go  away,  and 
leave  Mercy  to  you,  brother?  No,  I guess  not!”  He  had 
turned  it  off  with  a laugh  at  Steve’s  silly  jealousy,  but  it 
had  rankled  deeply  all  the  same. 

‘‘  He  will  not  go  of  his  own  free  will,”  he  muttered 
now.  He  must  be  got  rid  of  some  way.  Oh,  how- 
how  to  get  rid  of  Steve!” 

The  road  by  this  time  was  semi-dark  and  very  lonely. 
His  footsteps  echoed  sharply  on  the  frozen  path,  and  the 
wind,  shaking  the  branches  of  the  trees  on  either  side, 
filled  the  air  with  noises.  Once  or  twice  something  like 
a stealthy,  following  fobtstep  sounded  near  him,  but 
gained  from  him,  in  the  hurry  and  confused  trouble  of  his 
thoughts,  no  more  than  a passing^ wonder.  Once,  indeed, 
when  it  sounded  very  plainly,  he  had  glanced  round, 
scarcely  conscious  why  he  did  so  or  what  he  was  looking 
for. 

‘‘No  one  there,  of  course!”  he  muttered,  half  aloud. 
“ I half  wish  some  spirit  of  evil  would  ride  by  me  on  the 
wind  to-night.  The  devil  himself  would  be  welcome  to 
me  if  he  told  me  how  to  get  rid  of  Steve!” 

He  spoke  those  last  words  aloud.  In  an  instant,  out  of 
the  surrounding  darkness,  came  an  answering  voice,  deep, 
low,  and  sinister: 

“ I can  show  you  how  to  get  rid  of  Steve,  James  Eay- 
mond!” 

And,  as  he  involuntarily  started  back,  a man — a tall, 
swarthy,  gypsy-looking  fellow,  with  jet-black  hair,  and 
wearing  a slouched  hat  drawn  down  over  a pair  of  brill- 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


141 


iantly  piercing  eyes— this  man  came  out  from  the  shadows 
of  the  trees  and  stood  before  him. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A PLOT. 

James  Raymond  did  not  return  to  New  York  by  the 
eight-o^clock  train  that  evening.  On  the  contrary,  he  ac- 
companied his  new  acquaintance  of  the  road  to  a lonely 
and  dilapidated  cottage  built  at  the  foot  of  a rocky  hill, 
and  situated  in  the  very  heart  of  the  wild  and  lonely 
woods.  And  if  it  should  appear  improbable  that  a man 
who  was  ordinarily  so  practical  and  prudent  should  con- 
tide  his  own  personal  safety  so  rashly  into  a stranger^s 
keeping,  be  it  remembered  that  his  usual  good  sense  was 
warped  by  passion  and  jealousy,  twin  tormentors,  whose 
sharp  goads  had  lashed  him  into  such  a condition  of  des- 
perate recklessness  that  he  had  lately  wished  for  the  ap- 
pearance of  even  the  Arch  Enemy  himself,  if  only  his 
fiendship  would  rid  him  of  his  rival  and  help  him  to  his 
hearths  desire. 

This  his  new  acquaintance  promised  to  do,  the  con- 
sideration being  stated  roughly  thus:  One  thousand  dol- 

lars down  when  the  game  is  bagged,  and  four  thousand 
more  upon  your  wedding-day.^^  And  to  these  terms, 
James,  after  a brief  consideration,  agreed,  making  one 
condition  only,  that  his  blood  must  not  be  shed;  neither 
in  life  nor  limb  must  you  really  harm  him;  not  even  for 
Mercy^s  sake  could  1 consent  to  that.  Remember,  no  real 
harm  to  Steve. 

No  real  harm,  while  all  the  time  he  was  plotting  to  take 
from  his  brother  all  that,  as  even  he  himself  now  con- 
fessed, made  life  desirable!  As  if  there  were  not  far  worse 
wounds  and  wrongs  and  harms  than  any  injury  to  life  or 
limb  can  compass! 


142 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


“ He  sha’n^t  be  hurt/^  said  the  man,  abruptly.  And 
now  understand  that^  after  to-morrow’s  over,  the  sooner 
it’s  done  the  better.  To-morrow  1 must  have  for  prepara- 
tions; after  that,  bring  him  whenever  you  like.  Now,  have 
you  thought  how  you’re  to  get  him  to  this  place?  He  isn’t 
a dog  or  a baby,  you  know,  to  follow  wherever  you  lead, 
without  asking  a question.” 

But  James  confessed  himself  unprovided  with  any  plau- 
sible lie  that  would  be  likely  to  tempt  his  brother  into  the 
trap  that  was  being  set  for  him. 

1 must  think  of  something,  plan  something  — he  be- 
gan, confusedly,  when  his  companion  interrupted  him. 

“Here’s  j^our  plan,”  said  he.  “Can  you  imitate  her 
writing?  You’ve  got  a note  from  her  for  him;  I saw  it  in 
your  hand.” 

James  colored,  remembering  how  he  had  kissed  the 
note. 

“ Well,  don’t  give  him  that  note;  open  it  and  practice  a 
bit,  and  write  him  another,  no  matter  how  short,  telling 
him  to  follow  the  bearer — that’ll  be  me — to  this  place  to 
meet  her.  Day  after  to-morrow,  when  the  noon  train 
comes  in.  I’ll  be  in  the  woods  by  the  road  where  I met  you 
to-night.  When  I see  you.  I’ll  step  out  and  meet  you. 
Soon  as  I get  near,  drop  the  note  you’ve  written  on  the 
ground  behind  you,  careful  not  to  let  liwi  see.  Don’t 
even  glance  at  it,  and  I’ll  manage  all  the  rest.  You  pro- 
vide the  letter,  and  we’ll  get  him  hero;  and  once  here,  he 
won’t  get  out  again  until  I’ve  earned  the  whole  five  thou- 
sand dollars.  But  mind,  when  you  meet  me,  don’t  look 
as  if  you’d  ever  seen  me  before;  and  for  the  world  don’t 
speak  until  I speak  to  you  first.  And  it  would  be  as  well 
to  object  to  his  following  me;  call  me  a rough  fellow,  and 
all  that;  he’ll  think,”  with  a malicious  laugh,  “he’ll 
think  that  you’re  holding  him  back  from  his  beauty’s 
arms,  and  he’ll  walk  into  the  trap  all  the  easier.  And, 
see  you — ” 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


14:3 


\ He  suddenly  arose  from  his  seat,  and  going  to  a corner 
\ cupboard,  brought  three  glasses  out  and  laid  them  on  the 
table. 

‘‘  Just  alike,  aiiiH  they?^^  said  he,  with  a most  peculiar 
look,  “ only  one  has  got  just  a little  bit  snipped  about  the 
edges.  Now,  mind  you,  when  you  come  here  with  your 
brother,  don^t  drink  out  of  the  snipped  glass!  It  won^t 
agree  with  you.  Listen:  when  we  get  him  into  the  cot- 
tage, Mercy  ain^t  here,  of  course.  ‘ She^s  gone  a little 
piece  into  the  woods  to  see  a poor,  sick  child, ^ says  1,  ex- 
plaining to  him,  ‘ she  didiiH  like  to  wait  here  so  long  all 
alone — it^s  a dull  place,  you  see — so  she  went  to  Molly 
Greenes,  and  I^m  to  run  and  tell  her  you^re  here,  gentle" 
men.  I’ll  go  now,’  and  o£E  I’m  starting  when  you  call  me 
back,  wanting  to  know  if  I can  give  you  a drink  of  some- 
thing before  I go.  ‘ To  be  sure  I can,’  says  I,  and  I pour 
out  three  glasses  of  lager— will  he  drink  lager?”— James 
nodded — “ because,  if  not,  it  can  be  whatever  you  think 
he’ll  take  to  best.  And  can’t  you  keep  him  with  you  to- 
morrow night,  and  give  him  something  for  breakfast 
that’ll  make  him  thirsty?  To  be  sure  you  can!  Good 
enough!  So  I hand  a glass  to  you,  and  thk  one  to  him, 
and  one  to  myself,  and  I say,  ‘ here’s  luck  to  us!’  And 
next  minute  the  beer’s  down  and  the  job’s  done,  leastways 
the  first  and  worst  of  it,  and  you  pay  me  the  one  thousand 
dollars,  and  go  your  way,  and  see  how  quick  you  can  per- 
suade the  girl  to  marry  you.” 

James  had  listened  silently,  his  face  gradually  whiten- 
ing until  it  assumed  the  ashen  hue  of  death.  He  shrunk 
visibly  from  contact  with  his  unscrupulous  ally,  but  he 
made  no  objections  to  his  villainous  plans. 

If  he  should  struggle,  or  call  for  help?”  he  suggested, 
nervously. 

If  he  did,  nobody’d  bear  him,”  answered  the  other, 
callously;  “ but  he  won’t  make  a move  or  a sound.  I 
<shall  have  the  bird  secure  in  his  cage  before  he  knows 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


lU 

enough  to  flutter.  Afterward  he  may  beat  his  wings  till 
they  break  if  he  likes,  but  he  wonH  get  out  till  1 open  the 
door  again.  Do  you  want  to  see  the  cage?’^ 

He  arose  as  he  spoke,  without  waiting  for  any  answer, 
and  dragged  from  its  iflace  against  the  back  wall  of  the 
cottage  or  hut  (a  wall  formed  by  the  rock  against  which 
the  rough  habitation  was  built),  a large  and  tall  packing- 
box,  made  of  pine  planks  roughly  nailed  together.  Being 
removed,  it  left  bare  a large  opening  in  the  rock,  evidently 
leading  to  a natural  hollow  or  cave,  as  large,  or  larger, 
than  the  room  in  which  they  were  sitting. 

There^s  where  he^ll  bide  until  your  wedding-day,^^ 
said  the  ruffian,  carelessly,  and  he  prophesied  more  truly 
than  he  knew.  There^s  a sort  of  dim  light  comes  from 
a small  opening  above  and  air  enough  to  breathe,  so  he^ll 
do  flnely.'’^  He  pulled  the  chest  back  to  its  place  again. 
‘‘ There said  he,  complacently.  ‘‘The  cage  is  a safe 
and  strong  one,  and  to-morrow  Fll  make  the  dose  that^s 
to  lime  the  bird.  Go  you  now  and  bring  him  here  to 
drink  it.’^ 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MORE  PLOTTING. 

After  taking  part  in  such  a conversation  and  such  a 
compact,  it  is  not,  perhaps,  very  wonderful  that  James 
Raymond  looked  haggard  and  pale  when  he  arrived  in 
New  York  next  morning;  so  much  so  indeed,  that  once  or 
twice  people  turned  and  looked  after  him  as  he  passed, 
almost  questioning  if  it  had  been  a living  man  or  a ghost 
that  had  gone  by  them. 

Arriving  at  his  mother ^s  door  just  as  the  letter-carrier 
reached  it  on  his  first  morning  round,  that  individual  was 
so  much  startled  by  his  ghastly  pallor  that  he  could  not 
refrain  from  noticing  it. 

“ Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Raymond, said  the  postman,  paus- 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


145 


^ing,  letter  in  hand.  “ But  you  do  look  awful  bad,  to  be 
sure.  Is  anything  the  matter,  sir?’^ 

Nothing  more  than  a tedious  all-night  journey  which 
has  tired  me  out,^^  James  answered,  coolly.  Then  with  a 
glance  at  the  letter  in  the  man^s  hand,  at  the  same  time 
holding  out  his  own  to  take  it:  “ For  me.  Smith?'" 

For  there  was  always  “ a room  kept  for  James  ""  in  his 
mother’s  house,  and  many  of  his  letters  were  directed 
there. 

But  this  missive  was  not  for  him,  though  the  man  made 
no  demur  about  giving  it  into  his  keeping. 

“For  Mrs.  Eaymond,  sir,"  he  answered,  at  the  same 
time  putting  the  letter  into  James's  hand.  “ If  you're 
going  in  perhaps  you'll  take  it.  Nothing  for  any  one  else, 
sir,  this  morning." 

And  away  he  went  upon  his  rounds  again. 

James  glanced  at  the  letter,  and  at  the  same  moment 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  bell;  but  he  did  not  ring;  on  the 
contrary  he  started  at  sight  of  the  handwriting  of  his 
mother's  correspondent,  and  withdrawing  his  hand,  stood 
for  a few  moments  hesitating. 

The  letter  was  in  Ada's  hand.  The  question  which  it 
suggested  to  James's  mind  was  this: 

“ Would  it  help  me  at  all  to  know  what  she  has  to  say? 
(km  I make  her  useful  to  me?" 

No  scruple  as  to  the  dishonor  of  opening  her  letter  de-  - 
terred  him.  He  had  gone  too  far  now  in  wish  and  actual 
intent  to  strain  at  such  a gnat  as  this.  There  was  very 
little  risk  about  it. 

His  mother  would  probably  never  know  such  a letter 
had  come,  or  indeed  if  he  found  it  useless  to  himself  and 
harmless  to  his  plans,  he  might  deliver  it  to  her  later. 
Was  it  worth  while  to  take  the  trouble  about  it?  After  a 
moment's  consideration  he  decided  that  it  was. 

“ It  may  do  some  good,  and  it  can't  do  harm,"  he 


14G 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIIST. 


thought,  as  he  quietly  turned  away  from  the  house.  “ My 
talk  with  mother  can  wait.^^ 

For  it  was  with  the  intention  of  talking  his  mother  into 
consenting  to  Steve’s  departure  for  California  that  he  had 
paused  as  he  passed  her  door  on  the  way  to  his  hotel. 

She  might  be  got  to  approve  of  such  a journey,  on  the 
score  of  its  separating  Mercy  and  Steve.  At  present  James 
had  his  secret  fears  that  the  loving  little  mother,  rather 
than  part  from  her  youngest  and  favorite  child,  might 
withdraw  her  objections  to  their  union. 

But,  after  all,  what’s  the  use  of  her  consent?”  he 
mused,  gloomily,  as  he  strode  along.  ‘‘  If  my  present 
plans  succeed,  Steve  will  be  got  out  of  the  way  more 
effectually,  and  no  one’s  leave  asked;  only,  how  shall  I ac- 
count for  his  disappearance? — ay,  that’s  the  awkward  part 
of  it!  There’ll  be  a hue  and  cry  after  him.  If  some 
plausible  excuse  for  his  absence  can  not  be  devised,  there’ll 
be  the  very  devil  of  a search  for  him!” 

Beaching  his  hotel,  and  going  at  once  to  his  room,  he 
carefully  opened  Ada’s  letter.  It  proved  to  be  very  brief 
— merely  announcing  the  writer’s  intended  departure  from 
New  York,  and  bidding  Mrs.  Eaymond  farewell. 

‘‘Perhaps  for  years,”  wrote  Ada — “certainly  until  I 
can  forget  my  bitter  disappointment  and  humiliation. 
God  bless  you,  dear  Mrs.  Eaymond.  I do  not  tell  you 
where  we  go,  and  I shall  not  write,  for  I wish  to  detach 
myself  entirely  from  old  associations  for  some  time  to 
come.  When  I can  meet  your  son  without  a pang  1 shall 
return — not  till  then.  Aunt  goes  with  me.  Before  this 
reaches  you,  I shall  have  left  New  York.” 

This  was  all.  James  gasped  for  breath  as  he  laid  the 
letter  down  before  him;  it  offered  him  a possible  solution 
for  the  only  serious  difficulty  that  stood  in  the  way  of  his 
villainous  design. 

“ This  letter  must  never  reach  my  mother,”  he  thought, 
rapidly*  “ Ada  will  appear  to  have  left  without  a word, 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


147 


and  Steve  disappears  at  the  same  time— will  not  the  infer- 
ence be  that  they  went  together?  At  any  rate  — he  drew 
a long,  deep  breath,  and  the  look  of  resolution  deepened  in 
his  face — “ it  shall  go  hard,  but  I contrive  to  make  it  ap- 
23ear  so.""^ 

The  pallor  of  his  face  changed  now  to  a hot  flush  of  ex- 
citement. Why,  this  would  do  more  than  account  for 
Stevens  disappearance — it  would  account  for  it  in  such  a 
way  as  would  arouse  Mercy^s  bitterest  indignation  against 
her  seemingly  unfaithful  lover — it  would  drive  her  to  his 
— James  Eaymond^s — arms! 

He  seized  the  letter  in  a resolute  grasp,  and  cast  a tri- 
umphant glance  around  him. 

“1  shall  win!^’  he  muttered — “1  shall  have  her  yet! 
Fate  itself  favors  me!^^ 

And  in  that  moment,  with  the  thought  of  success — of 
Mercy  wedded  to  him,  irrevocably  his  own,  his  wife — the 
last  vestige  of  hesitation,  of  doubt,  of  pity  for  his  brother 
passed  from  his  heart. 

Here  was  a way,  not  only  of  winning  her,  but  of  win- 
ning her  quickly.  His  desire,  which  had  hitherto  been 
humble  enough  and  content  to  wait,  grew  hotly  impatient 
and  eager. 

The  sooner  Steve  was  removed  and  his  perfldy  made 
clear  to  her,  the  sooner  would  she  revenge  herself,  and 
hide  her  humiliation  by  a wealthier  marriage.  Why,  with 
this  new  aid  which  poor,  unconscious  Ada  had  given  him, 
the  whole  plot  might  be  perfected  and  brought  to  success 
almost  at  once. 

“ A month  or  so  to  convince  her  that  she  is  forsaken;  a 
letter  or  two  from  Steve  to  her,  and  from  Ada  to  my 
mother,  telling  of  their  reconciliation  and  marriage — she^s 
not  the  girl  1 take  her  for  if  she  doesnT  pluck  up  a spirit 
to  resent  that.  Steve  false  to  her — Steve  married  to  an- 
other woman,  and  then  I come  in  with  wealth  enough  to 
lord  it  over  her  rival— with  love  enough  to  win  her  affeo- 


148 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


tion  in  the  end.  Shea’ll  marry  me^  and  Til  take  her  to 
Europe,  and  keep  her  there  until  she  loves  me  well  enough 
to  pardon  the  ruse  by  which  I won  her  to  her  own  welfare 
and  happiness.  It  both  can  and  shall  be  done,  and  1^11 
set  about  it  at  once.  First  of  all,  1^11  write  the  note  my 
fellow-conspirator  needs  to  decoy  Steve. 

Without  wasting  any  more  time  about  the  matter,  he  set 
to  work  at  once  upon  his  task  of  imitating  Mercy’s  writ- 
ing. 

It  was  not  so  difficult  as  he  had  anticipated;  the  girl’s 
scholastic  training,  as  well  as  her  resolute  and  decided 
character,  giving  her  handwriting  something  of  a mascu- 
line style,  which  he  found  it  easy  to  copy. 

‘‘If  it  were  an  effeminate,  broken-backed  scrawl  like 
that,”  he  muttered,  giving  Ada’s  letter  a contemptuous 
push  as  it  lay  before  him,  “ I should  never  try  to  copy  it 
at  all,  for  it  would  be  simply  impossible  to  do  it  success- 
fully.” 

This  set  him  wondering  how  the  desired  letter  from  Ada, 
telling  of  her  marriage,  was  to  be  manufactured  for 
Mercy’s  deception.  But  the  problem  did  not  puzzle  him 
very  long. 

Evil  plots  and  plans  suggested  themselves  to  his  mind  as 
rapidly  as  if  the  master  of  all  evil  had  stood  in  person  at 
his  elbow,  whispering  them  into  his  willing  ear. 

“We’ll  do  without  any  letter  from  Ada.  A telegram 
will  do,”  he  resolved.  “ A telegram  from  Steve.” 

Poor  Mercy’s  real  letter  hidden  carefully  away,  and  the 
forged  one  completed  to  his  satisfaction,  he  turned  his  at- 
tention to  his  own  personal  needs,  and  took  a bath  and 
breakfast,  and  made  some  change  in  his  disordered  dress. 

All  this  he  did  methodically  and  deliberately,  and  with- 
out any  thought  or  sense  of  comfort  or  satisfaction  in  it. 

He  felt  the  steadier  and  better  when  it  was  done,  how- 
ever, though  the  deathly  pallor  had  returned  to  his  face 
and  remained  there. 


HIS  COUKTRY  COUSIK. 


140 


By  this  time  it  was  noon.  He  had  had  no  sleep,  and 
felt  no  want  of  any,  and  there  was  yet  much  to  be  done. 

He  went  to  the  bank,  and  having  drawn  out  one  thou- 
sand dollars  in  notes,  made  them  into  a small  packet  and 
put  them  into  an  inner  pocket.  Then  he  went  quietly  to 
his  own  store,  where  he  knew  he  should  find  Steve. 

The  two  brothers  were  friendly  enough,  thanks  to  the 
policy  of  the  elder,  in  spite  of  Stevens  incipient  jealousy. 

But  James  had,  as  yet,  said  nothing  to  any  one  about  his 
journey. 

Therefore  Stevens  surprise  was  very  great  when,  calling 
him  aside,  James  said: 

“ 1 saw  Mercy  yesterday.  Her  mother  wrote  to  me 
concerning  a business  matter,  and  I thought  it  best  to  ad- 
vise her  in  person.  1 have  a message  to  you  from  her, 
and  have  much  to  say  to  you.  But  we  canT  talk  here. 
After  business  come  home  with  me  to  my  hotel,  where  we 
can  be  undisturbed.  I promised  Mercy  to  help  you  both, 
and  I will  do  so  if  possible. 

And  he  passed  on  to  his  private  office,  leaving  Steve  sur- 
prised and  wondering. 

Uncomfortably  surprised,  and  uneasily  wondering,  for 
to  his  mind,  having  no  reason  to  believe  Mrs.  Craven  his 
friend,  this  secret  correspondence  and  secret  visit  on  his 
brother’s  part  had  in  it  something  underhanded  and 
strange,  and  set  him  vaguely  doubting. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

IN snared! 

These  doubts  James  soon  contrived  to  set  at  rest,  how- 
ever, and  even  to  convince  Steve  of  his  sincerity  and  good 
intention. 

“ Youfi’e  inclined  to  doubt  me,  Steve,  because  you  can 
see  that  I admired  the  girl  you  love.  My  boy,  that  was 
before  I knew  that  you  loved  her,  and  when  I supposed 


150 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


her  free  to  be  wooed  by  me  as  by  any  man.  When  she 
tells  me,  as  she  has  told  me,  that  her  heart  is  yours,  I re- 
tire from  the  field  with  what  grace  1 may,  and  honestly 
wish  to  do  what  I can  toward  securing  her  happiness.  She 
trusts  me;  why  should  not  you?  Come,  come!  Believe 
me  your  best  friend.  And  let  us  go  like  friends  together 
to-morrow  and  talk  the  situation  over.^^ 

So  it  was  arranged  that  Steve  should  remain  with  James 
at  his  hotel  for  the  night,  in  order  to  start  off  early  in  the 
morning. 

She  expects  us  to  arrive  by  the  train  that  gets  in  at 
noon,^^  said  James.  “I  woii^t  be  in  the  way,  my  dear 
boy,  ni  talk  to  the  mother.  1 told  Mercy  of  the  Cali- 
fornia project,  and  you’ll  talk  the  matter  over  with  her. 
1 have  promised  her  that  anything  she  suggests  to  be  done 
for  you  I will  do,  if  it  lies  within  the  bounds  of  possi- 
bility.” 

It  sounded  plausible  enough.  Steve,  being  young  and 
honest,  believed  and  thanked  his  brother,  and  while  with 
him  and  under  his  influence,  trusted  him  entirely;  but 
strangely  enough,  no  sooner  did  he,  having  retired  to  rest, 
find  himself  alone,  than  the  old  vague,  unreasoning,  un- 
comfortable doubt  returned  upon  his  mind  in  full  force 
again. 

It  made  him  angry  with  himself.  A doubt  that  had  ab- 
solutely no  foundation,  and  was  so  very  shadowy  and  un- 
real that  it  had  actually  nothing  tangible  to  be  afraid  of 
seemed  childish,  puerile,  despicable.  Steve  shook  himself 
impatiently,  as  if  he  would  have  shaken  the  premonition 
of  coming  evil,  which  seemed  to  him  a cowardly  and 
whimsical  fancy  only,  out  of  his  brain. 

‘‘  What  the  deuce  have  I to  be  afraid  of?”  he  asked 
himself.  “ James  talks  fairly  enough;  and  he  isn’t  going 
to  Mercy  alone,  but  asks  me  to  come  with  him.  If  I could 
suspect  my  own  brother  of  any  villainy,  even  the  fact  tha^ 
he  chooses  broad  daylight  for  our  visit,  when  he  could  just 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


151 


as  well  have  gone  to-night,  makes  the  ridiculous  idea 
doubly  ridiculous.  Pshaw!  Pm  ashamed  of  myselt*.  Pm 
worse  than  a nervous  woman.  Pm  a fool!’^ 

The  very  mention  of  “ a nervous  woman  caused  him 
to  remember  that  his  mother  would  wonder  at  his  absence. 
True,  James  had  assured  him  that  he  had  seen  her  in  the 
morning,  and  had  told  her  that  Steve  would  be  with  him. 

“ I might  write  her  a few  lines  all  the  same,  to  tell  her 
l^m  going  out  of  town,^^  he  mused;  with  that  restless  de- 
sire upon  him  to  be  doing  something  that  was  natural  to 
his  nervous  mood.  “ She  would  get  it  by  breakfast-time 
to-morrow.'’^ 

So  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a note  to  Mrs.  Eaymond,  and 
rang  his  bell  for  the  night  porter  to  mail  it. 

James,  restless  also,  and  afraid  to  lie  down  until  certain 
that  his  intended  victim  was  asleep,  was  in  the  office  when 
the  man  brought  the  letter  down. 

‘‘  Here,’^  he  said,  instantly.  “ Give  it  to  me,  George, 
l^m  going  out  and  will  post  it.^^ 

• And  he  actually  did  go  out  and  walk  around  the  block, 
returning  presently  with  Stevens  letter  in  his  pocket. 

In  his  own  room  he  opened  it.  It  contained  only  a few 
loving  words;  but  now  not  even  consideration  for  the  anx- 
ious anguish  he  was  preparing  for  the  little  mother's  heart 
could  induce  him  to  pause. 

He  put  the  letter  into  the  fire. 

“One  danger  escaped,^"  he  muttered  to  himself.  “It 
was  well  that  1 watched  him. 

Meantime  Steve,  more  contented  for  having  written  his 
useless  letter,  fell  asleep. 

It  was  James  who  awoke  him,  as  early  as  five  o^’cJock, 
standing  beside  his  bed. 

“ The  train  starts  at  seven/'’  he  said,  with  a smile  on 
his  ghastly  face — so  ghastly  that  Steve  stared  at  him  with 
positive  dismay^  and  cried  out^  impulsively^ 


152 


HIS  COUJSfTEY  COUSIN. 


‘‘Good  God,  James!  what’s  the  matter? — what  makes 
you  look  so  pale?” 

“ I haven’t  slept,”  James  answered,  hurriedly.  “ I’m 
not  well.  But  don’t  mind  me,”  he  added,  quietly^  “ I 
shall  be  better  presently,  when  we  get  into  the  air.  You 
must  make  haste,  though.  I’ve  ordered  breakfast — such 
as  we  can  get  at  this  early  hour — for  both  of  us.” 

The  breakfast  was  well  enough,  Steve  thought.  There 
was  fish,  both  smoke-cured  and  salted,  and  ham  and  eggs, 
fried,  but  the  ham  was  of  the  saltest,  certainly. 

“ It’s  rather  thirsty  fare,”  said  Steve,  who  was  in  high 
spirits  by  this  time.  “That’s  the  only  fault  I find  with 
it!” 

James  gave  him  a very  peculiar  look  indeed. 

“ Fortunately  we  can  get  all  we  want  to  drink  upon  the 
road,”  said  he,  with  another  of  his  ghastly  smiles. 

They  did  not  do  so,  however.  Only  once  did  they  stop 
for  a glass  of  beer,  though  Steve  anticipated  slaking  his 
thirst  when  they  should  reach  the  depot.  In  this  he  was 
disappointed  by  James,  who  proposed  that  they  should 
leave  the  train  when  it  stopped  for  a few  moments  at  a 
cutting  about  half  a mile  below  the  station. 

“ It  leads  to  a much  shorter  cut,”  said  he.  Jumping 
from  the  car  as  he  spoke;  and  Steve,  who  knew  nothing 
of  the  place,  followed  him  without  any  argument. 

By  these  means  James  secured  to  himself  the  immense 
advantage  of  avoiding  the  depot,  where  somebody  or  other 
would  have  been  sure  to  notice  him  and  Steve  together, 
and  might  have  come  forward  to  state  the  fact,  afterward, 
to  his  confusion. 

They  struck  out  for  the  lonely  lane,  James  taking  the 
lead,  and  Steve  following  contentedly. 

“ You  seem  quite  at  home  with  the  road,”  said  Steve; 
but  he  said  it  without  suspicion,  for  daylight  had  dispelled 
his  doubts. 

James  answered,  quietly: 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


15:i 

“ 1 can  always  find  my  way  anywhere;  it’s  a sort  of  gift 
with  me.  And  Fve  been  this  way  twice^  you  know.  It^s 
a short  cut,  you’ll  find,  that  Tm  taking  you.” 

Steve  never  questioned  it.  Happy  in  the  thought  that 
he  should  soon  see  his  beloved,  his  heart  was  too  light  and 
gay  to  harbor  the  dark  guest  Suspicion,  else  he  might  have 
wondered  at  James’s  nervous  manner  and  watchful,  rov- 
ing eyes,  as  well  as  at  the  start  he  made  when  a rough- 
looking fellow  came  suddenly  out  of  the  woods  into  the 
road  just  ahead  of  them,  and  stared  inquisitively  into  their 
faces  as  he  passed  them  by. 

But  Steve  noticed  nothing  of  this.  Still  less  did  he  see 
that  James’s  hand  had  softly  and  secretly  dropped  a note 
upon  the  ground  behind  them,  and  that  the  man  came  to 
it  and  picked  it  up  as  soon  as  he  had  passed  them  by. 

Next  moment  they  heard  him  calling  to  them,  and  turn- 
ing to  ascertain  the  cause,  saw  him  coming  back,  speaking 
as  he  came. 

“Beg  pardon,  gentlemen,”  said  the  man,  brusquely, 
“ but  is  either  of  you  named  Eaymond?” 

“Both,”  answered  James,  as  brusquely,  and  his  very 
lips  were  white. 

“ Steve  Eaymond  is  the  man  I want,”  said  the  stranger, 
who  held  a letter  in  his  hand.  “I’ve  got  this  letter  for 
him.  ” 

' And  he  held  it  out. 

“It  is  for  me,”  said  Steve,  and  took  it  from  him. 
“Why,  James!”  he  cried,  as  he  began  to  read.  “It  is 
from  Mercy!” 

The  letter  was  as  follows: 

“ My  dear  Steve,— The  bearer  will  show  you  the  way 
to  his  cottage,  where  I am  waiting  for  you.  I have  had 
some  words  with  my  mother,  and  want  to  see  you  here. 
Will  explain  when  we  meet.  Your  own 

“ Mercy.” 


154 


ms  rorKTRY  COUSIN. 


Steve  received  it  without  a doubt  or  question. 

‘‘  We  must  do  as  she  wishes,  of  course/^  he  said,  as  he 
handed  the  letter  to  James. 

And  at  that  moment  his  brother’s  singular  pallor  again 
forced  itself  upon  his  attention. 

‘‘  I never  saw  anybody  as  pale  as  you  are,  James^”  said 
he;  you  can’t  be  well,  I’m  certain.” 

James  had  been  silently  reading  the  note — he  now 
looked  up-  with  a stern,  white  face. 

Never  mind  me,”  he  said,  with  a gravity  of  look  and 
tone  that  seemed  to  poor  Steve  quite  too  serious  for  the 
occasion.  ‘‘  Think  of  yourself.  Are  you  going  to  obey 
this  summons?  Believe  me,  the  wisest  way  is  to  go  to 
Mrs.  Craven’s  cottage.  If  Mercy  be  not  there  you  can 
then  go  and  seek  her.  I — 1 — I don’t  like  the  looks  of  that 
fellow,”  he  added,  lowering  his  tone  as  he  glanced  at  the 
man,  who  stood  quietly  waiting.  “ Steve,  if  you’re  wise, 
if  you’ll  take  my  advice,  you  won’t  go  with  him.” 

But  Steve  stared  at  him  with  indignant  surprise. 

Not  go  where  my  sweetheart  calls  me!”  he  cried. 
“ Why,  you  must  be  crazy!  Mercy  has  a spirit,  I can  as- 
sure you — you  are  actually  counseling  me  to  give  her 
offense,  and  that’s  no  friendly  counsel!” 

And  a new  phase  of  last  night’s  doubt  and  suspicion 
flashed  suddenly  from  his  eyes. 

“ Go  to  Mrs.  Craven’s  cottage  yourself  if  you  like,”  said 
he,  “ 1 go  to  Mercy.  Here!”  he  called  to  the  messenger. 
“ Lead  the  way.  I’m  ready!” 

James  came  sullenly  to  his  side.  lie  spoke  now  without 
lifting  his  eyes  to  his  brother’s  face. 

The  man  who  had  been  standing,  silent  and  uncon- 
cerned, moved  toward  the  wood  again. 

“ I’ll  go  with  you,”  said  James,  in  a strange,  sup- 
pressed voice.  “ I have  my  doubts  about  this  man,  and  I 
think  it  right  to  tell  you  so,  but  I’ll  go  with  you.  If  you 


HIS  COOl^TJlY  COUSIN.  * 155 

ever  see  cause  to  regret  not  taking  my  warning,  don’t 
blame  me  for  it.” 

“ Oh,  1 sha’n’t  blame  you!”  answered  Steve,  scornfully. 
“ Though  how  you  can  warn  me  about  what  you  don’t  un- 
derstand, 1 can’t  see!  Come  or  go,  as  you  please,  how- 
ever, I shall  go  to  Mercy.  Is  that  the  way?”  he  added, 
to  the  supposed  messenger. 

“This  is  the  way.  It  ain’t  far,”  answered  the  man; 
“ right  ahead  of  us.” 

And  he  pushed  his  way  through  the  trees,  into  the  thick 
woods. 

The  two  brothers,  sullen  and  silent  now,  and  walking  a 
little  apart,  followed  him. 

The  victim  had  fallen  into  the  snare,  and  was  going  to 
his  doom! 


OHAPTEE  XXXIII. 

“something  is  wrong  with  STEVE.” 

The  hue  and  cry  after  Steve,  which  James  had  rightly 
anticipated,  began  very  shortly  after  his  departure,  when 
Mrs.  Eaymond,  coming  down  to  breakfast,  was  informed 
by  her  servant  that  “ Mr.  Stejihen  hadn’t  been  home  all 
night;  at  least,  any  ways  his  bed  hadn’t  been  slept 
in.”  The  little  mother  took  alarm  at  once,  for  Steve  had 
always  been  steady  and  regular,  and  she  well  knew  that, 
although  there  was  a certain  coolness  between  them  on  ac- 
count of  Mercy  Craven,  he  was  much  too  thoughtful  and 
affectionate  to  cause  her  any  uneasiness,  or  deliberately 
leave  her  in  suspense  as  to  his  movements. 

“ Something  is  wrong,”  spoke  up  the  maternal  instinct 
in  her  heart.  “ Something  is  wrong  with  Stephen.” 

So  strong  was  this  foreboding  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
she  forced  herself  to  wait  patiently  until  ten  o’clock  before 
going  out  to  make  inquiries  concerning  him.  “ If  all’s 
well,  he  will  send  me  some  message  on  liis  way  to  the 


156 


HIS  COUKTKY  COUSIH. 


store/^  she  thought.  But  no  message  came,  so  to  the 
store  she  went  in  search  of  him. 

What  she  heard  here  somewhat  allayed  her  fears.  Mr. 
Eaymond  and  Mr.  Stephen  Eaymond  had  left  the  store 
together  on  the  previous  evening,  and  one  of  the  clerks 
had  seen  them  get  into  a street  car.  Neither  had  since 
been  seen,  and  the  obvious  inference  was  that  they  were 
still  together.  The  mother,  who  knew  of  no  cause  for  ill- 
feeling  between  her  sons,  felt  satisfied. 

“ Surely  Steve  must  be  all  right, she  thought,  “ since 
James  is  with  him.^’ 

As  her  anxiety  abated  and  faded,  a sense  of  annoyance 
and  indignation  took  its  place.  That  Steve,  her  idolized 
boy,  to  whom  she  had  so  devoted  herself,  should  be  thus 
inconsiderate  and  unmindful  of  her  feelings,  hurt  her  very 
much.  There  was  even  a little  touch  of  jealousy  in  her 
wound.  Hitherto  she  had  been  first  of  all  with  Steve, 
whose  light  liking  for  Ada  had  been  neither  strong  enough 
nor  deep  enough  to  supplant  her  infiuence.  Now  all  was 
changed.  He  had  declared  himself  ready  to  sacrifice  her 
and  all  the  world  for  this  hateful  girl,  for  this  Mercy’s 
sake.  No  doubt  it  was  Mercy’s  infiuence  which  she  had 
now  to  thank  for  his  absence  and  the  anxiety  it  had  caused 
her.  Her  resentment  grew  against  him.  By  the  time  she 
reached  home  she  had  resolved,  being  reassured  by  the  in- 
telligence that  he  was  with  James,  to  wait  quietly  until  he 
should  think  proper  to  return,  and  meantime  to  think  no 
more  about  him. 

She  kept  in  this  mind,  starting  nervously  at  every  ring, 
and  listening  to  every  footfall,  until  four  o’clock  in  the 
afternoon,  and  then,  the  need  of  sympathy  being  strong 
upon  her,  she  suddenly  remembered  that  she  had  seen 
nothing  of  Ada  since  that  unlucky  afternoon  which  hjid 
brought  disappointment  to  both.  Ada  had  come  straight 
to  her  then  from  Polly’s  house;  but  since  then,  although 
she  had  written  to  the  girl,  expressing  her  desire  to  call 


JUS  couisTJtY  cousijsr. 


157 


upon  her,  she  had  neither  seen  her  nor  received  an  answer- 
ing line.  “ Which  is  almost  as  strange  as  Steve’s  absence 
is/’  mused  Mrs.  Eaymond,  uneasily.  “ I’ll  go  now  and 
call  upon  her.” 

It  was  easier  said  than  done,  however.  Ada’s  house  (it 
was  her  own)  had  a forlorn  and  deserted  look  that  warned 
the  visitor  what  to  expect,  even  before  the  door  was 
opened. 

This  office  was  performed  by  a woman,  quite  strange  to 
Mrs.  Eaymond,  who  stated  that  the  family  had  gone  away, 
and  she  didn’t  know  when  they  would  be  back  again. 

She  didn’t  know  anything,  apparently.  The  few  nat- 
ural questions  which  Mrs.  Eaymond,  in  her  first  bewilder- 
ment, was  constrained  to  put,  received  only  the  vaguest 
answers. 

She  didn’t  know  the  ladies  herself,  she  said.  Miss 
West’s  solicitor  and  man  of  business  had  got  her  the  job 
to  take  care  of  the  house,  and  he  paid  her  by  the  month, 
and  that  was  all  she  knew  about  it.  When  did  Miss  West 
go.^  She  believed  yesterday,  but  she  was  gone  before  she 
came  there.  Did  any  one  accompany  Miss  West — her 
aunt,  for  instance?  She  couldn’t  answer  that;  she  knew 
nothing  at  all  about  it. 

The  little  mother  turned  away  with  a fresh  wound  in 
her  affectionate  heart.  She  had  loved  Ada,  and  this  de- 
parture, without  one  good-bye  word,  hurt  her  deeply. 

“ For  what  wrong  had  I done  to  her?”  she  reasoned. 

She  knew  that  to  have  her  for  a daughter  was  the  wish 
of  my  heart— that  my  disappointment  was  scarcely  less 
than  her  own;  and  to  treat  me  so  unkindly  and  disrespect- 
fully— Mercy  Craven  herself  could  scarcely  treat  me  worse! 
1 sha’n’t  forget  it  easily.” 

And  she  turned  homeward  again  disconsolate. 

She  might  have  gone  to  Ada’s  solicitor  for  information, 
but  her  pride  revolted  against  that;  nor  would  it  indeed 
have  been  of  any  use,  since  he  bad  received  instructions 


158 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


from  his  client  to  give  no  clew  whatever  as  to  her  where- 
abouts. 

Thus  far  the  fates  seemed  to  have  worked  in  Jameses 
favor.  He  needed  some  assistance  of  the  kind^  for  the 
difficulties  of  the  task  he  had  undertaken  only  began  to 
show  themselves  in  their  true  magnitude  when  he  had 
taken  that  desperate  first  step  which  admitted  of  no  recall, 
and  committed  himself  to  a courso  from  which  there  could 
now  be  no  turning  back,  and  upon  which  one  single  false 
step  might  mean  ruin! 

To  get  Steve  out  of  the  way  had  seemed  to  him  the  one 
great  difficulty;  but,  now  that  that  most  desirable  end  was 
attained,  other  difficulties,  compared  to  which  this  one  ap- 
peared trifling,  sprung  up  on  every  side  of  him,  and  hem- 
med him  in  and  harassed  him  until  they  almost  maddened 
him.  As  he  sat  in  the  fast  express  train  for  New  York  on 
that  fatal  afternoon  that  proved  so  calamitous  to  poor 
Steve,  he  looked  back,  in  imagination,  to  his  young  broth- 
er, insnared  and  betrayed;  and,  even  while  he  shuddered 
at  the  picture  memory  drew,  he  almost  felt  that,  of  their 
two  predicaments,  his  own  was  far  the  worst,  and  that  he 
would  have  willingly  changed  places. 

Oh,  to  have  him  sitting  here  beside  me,  as  he  did  this 
morning!’^  he  sighed.  This  torture  of  doubt  and  fear 
and  possible  discovery  will  hang  about  me  every  day,  and 
drive  me  mad  at  last!  It  is  too  much  to  suffer,  even  for 
Mercy^s  sake.  I have  acted  too  hastily — 1 should  have 
taken  more  time,  matured  my  plans,  prepared  the  way 
for  this  disappearance.  There  are  so  many  things  that 
might  have  been  done  had  I taken  time  to  think  the  mat- 
ter out.  Surely  it  had  better  not  have  been  done  at  all 
than  done  so  carelessly — especially  when  failure  and  dis- 
covery mean  ruin — disgrace— ay  he  turned  hot  and 

cold,  white  and  red,  as  he  thought  what  that  disgrace 
would  be~“  ay,  death!  for  I could  never  face  the  scandal, 
nor  bear  to  sec  him  return  and  win  her,  after  all.  If  I 


niR  COVNTUY  rOUST'Nr. 


m 


succeed  it  will  be  nothing — a joke  on  Steve;  rather  a mean 
one,  perhaps  the  world  will  say;  but  then  ‘ all  stratagems 
are  fair  in  love  and  war/  1"11  make  amends  to  him — set 
liim  up  in  business,  and  enable  him  to  marry  some  other 
girl.  Mercy — ah,  I dread  her  the  most!’^ — he  actually 
trembled  at  the  thought  of  her~“  but  she  shall  not  know 
the  truth  until  she  is  my  loving  wife — perhaps  a mother 
also — and,  besides,  female  vanity  will  plead  for  me — no 
woman  living  but  would  be  flattered  by  such  a proof  of 
love-.  Oh,  it  will  be  all  right  if  I succeed;  but  failure — 
there’s  no  use  in  shirking  the  truth  now— failure  means 
ruin,  disgrace,  and  death!” 

Such  musings  occupied  him  until  the  train  reached 
Philadelphia,  where  it  stopped  for  ten  minutes.  He 
roused  himself,  and  hurrying  to  the  telegraph-office  he 
sent  a message  to  Mrs.  Raymond,  which  purported  to  come 
from  Ada  West.  He  used  her  initials  only,  so  as  to  avoid 
attracting  any  attention,  of  which  indeed  at  that  busy 
place,  and  amid  the  confusion  and  bustle  attendant  upon 
the  arrival  of  the  express,  there  was  but  little  danger. 

If  she  hasn’t  raised  the  hue  and  cry  already,”  he 
thought,  ‘‘  that’ll  keep  her  quiet  until  I can  see  her.  And 
I must  go  to  her  armed  with  a letter  from  Steve.  I must 
have  rest  before  1 write  it,  though — rest  and  sleep.  I feel 
as  though  my  brain  was  going  wild.” 

It  was  now  nearly  seven  o’clock.  The  train  went  dash- 
ing and  rattling  on  again  to  its  destination,  bearing  James 
to  rest,  and  sleep,  and  forgery.  And  faster  than  any  train 
that  ever  traveled  went  the  false  and  lying  message  that 
was  to  quiet  and  soothe  the  anxious  little  mother,  and 
prevent  her  raising  a hue  and  cry  after  Steve. 


160 


HIS  COUKTKY  COUSIK. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

‘‘are  they  married?^^ 

It  did  more  than  quiet  her — it  delighted  her.  It  made 
amends  for  Ada’s  supposed  neglect,  as  well  as  Steve’s,  and 
foreshadowed  the  fulfillment  of  the  cherished  wish  which 
of  late  she  had  almost  despaired  of.  For  this  is  what  the 
lying  message  said,  coming  from  A.  W.,  Philadelphia,  to 
Mrs.  Raymond,  New  York: 

“ By  this  you  have  received  Steve’s  letter.  We  will 
write  soon  and  send  you  our  address.  Tell  no  one.  I 
could  not  rest  until  you  shared  my  happiness,  but  speak  of 
us  to  none  except  James. 

“ Your  loving  children, 

“A.  and  S.” 

It  reached  Mrs.  Raymond  shortly  after  seven  o’clock, 
by  which  time  her  anxiety  and  suspense  had  grown  almost 
unendurable.  The  relief  it  brought  her  was  so  immense 
that  the  implied  joy  escaped  her  just  at  the  first  glance, 
and  came  upon  her  presently  like  a thunder-clap  of  deli- 
cious surprise  and  gladness. 

“ But  I can’t  make  out  whether  they  are  actually  mar- 
ried or  not,”  she  said  to  James,  when  he  called  next  day. 
(She  had  sat  up  till  twelve  in  the  hope  that  he  would  come 
on  the  night  of  the  message,  but  had  gone  to  sleep  at  last, 
quite  happy  in  its  false  news.)  “ You  see,  it  sa}^s  ‘from 
A.  W./  and  if  they  were  married  she  should  sign  ‘ A.  R.  ’ 
But  Steve’s  letter  to  you  seems  positive  enough.” 

And  she  began  to  read  it  for  the  twentieth  time  aloud 
and  thoughtfully: 

“Hear  James, — I am  not  going  on,  as  you  suppose. 
I can  not  face  poor  Mercy.  Besides,  I have  to  meet,  at 
Philadelphia,  one  who  has,  or  very  soon  will  have,  a better 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


101 


claim  on  me.  So  I leave  the  train^  and  mail  this  here.  1 
intend  writing  to  my  mother  shortly,  but  meantime  you 
can  explain  the  change  in  my  views  both  to  her  and  Mercy. 
Mother  will  ai)prove,  of  course,  but  Mercy — I hope  you 
will  say  all  that^s  kind  to  the  poor  girl.  Tell  her  there 
was  really  no  chance  for  us,  and  some  day  she  will  see  that 
this  is  for  the  best.  I hope  she  will  not  take  it  much  to 
heart.  After  all,  it  is  no  worse  for  her  than  it  was  for 
Ada,  and  I am  sure  she  will  yet  do  very  much  better  than 
in  marrying  me.  Say  and  do  the  very  best  you  can,  old 
fellow,  for  Tours,  Steye.^^ 

So  willing  is  human  nature  to  believe  that  which  it 
wishes  to  find  true  that  this  heartless,  selfish,  unmanly 
letter — wholly  unlike  the  character  of  frank,  loving,  gen- 
erous Steve — appeared  to  his  own  mother  so  satisfactory 
that  she  was  completely  deceived  by  it.  As  for  the  mere 
matter  of  handwriting,  James  had  been  successful  enough, 
there  being  naturally  a strong  resemblance  between  the 
handwriting  of  the  brothers — a circumstance  quite  as  com- 
mon and  noticeable  in  families  as  resemblances  of  feature 
or  ^ oice.  It  had  been  easy  for  James  to  imitate  any  little 
peculiarities  of  Steve%  with  which  long  association  had 
made  him  familiar.  The  forgery  was  a skillful  one,  so  far 
as  the  mechanical  portion  of  the  work,  but  the  sentiment 
and  tone  would  have  been  impossible  to  Stevens  nature. 
This,  however,  his  own  mother,  blinded  by  her  eagerness 
to  see  her  cherished  hopes  fulfilled,  quite  failed  to  notice. 

You  really  think  they  were  married,  then,  before  the 
message  was  sent?^^  she  asked.  “ In  spite  of  these  in- 
itials 

“ The  initials  may  have  been  used  as  a blind  in  case  of 
being  seen  by  any  one  but  yourself,^^  James  answered. 
“ Steve  told  me  they  intended  to  be  married  immediately, 
and  go  away,  perhaps  for  a year  or  two.  lie  has  the 
grace  to  be  somewhat  ashamed  of  the  manner  in  which  he 
6 


162 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


treated  both  these  girls.  And  Ada  is^  I fancy,  a little 
ashamed  of  having  forgiven  him  so  easily,  and  married 
him  after  all.  Stevens  idea  seemed  to  be  to  get  out  of  all 
the  responsibility  and  bother,  leave  me  to  adjust  matters 
with  Mercy  Craven,  and  himself  remain  abroad  until  the 
scandal  of  his  conduct  had  blown  over.  This  he  confided 
to  me  after  business  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  urged  me 
to  go  to  Mercy  at  once,  and  tell  her  of  the  change  in  his 
feelings.  1 declined,  of  course,  and  moreover  insisted  that 
he  should  act  in  a straightforward  manner  toward  the  girl 
by  going  to  her  himself,  although  I was  willing  to  accom- 
pany him.  1 must  confess  that  1 had  my  doubts  of  him, 
even  when  at  last  he  promised  that  he  would  do  this,  and 
for  that  reason,  though  on  the  pretext  of  being  in  time  for 
an  early  train,  1 kept  him  with  me  all  night.  His 
arrangements  to  meet  Ada  at  Philadelphia  must  have  been 
already  made,  even  while  he  was  promising  me  to  see 
Mercy,  and  his  pretense  of  accompanying  me  was  a de- 
liberate deception.  He  gave  me  the  slip  at  Philadelphia, 
and  while  1 was  hunting  about  for  him  a boy  placed  this 
letter  in  my  hand.  This  is  all  1 know,  mother,  and  1 
must  say  that,  so  far  as  our  cousin  Mercy  is  concerned,  it 
is  a most  painful  affair,  and  1 could  heartily  wish  that  the 
poor  girl  had  never  seen  Steve,  nor — nor  any  one  of  us.^^ 

He  uttered  that  regret  with  all  his  heart.  Oh,  that  he 
had  never  seen  her,  this  one  woman  of  all  the  world  whom 
it  was  his  wretched  fate  to  love! 

Oh,  that  her  beauty  had  never  dazzled  his  eyes  and  mad- 
dened his  brain,  and  changed  him  from  a fairly  honest, 
plodding,  commonplace  man  into  a base  conspirator 
against  his  own  brother's  peace;  a vile  thief  who  sought  to 
rob  a woman  of  her  love,  her  hopes,  her  very  self;  a crim- 
inal whom  the  law  could  punish!  Oh,  to  be  honest,  clean 
of  hand,  and  cold  of  heart  once  more!  Oh,  that  he  had 
never  seen  her! 

ilis  mothei*'’s  smiling  complaOency,  her  joy  in  this  ad- 


ms  couNTKY  corsT^r. 


103 

vantagcous  marriage  for  lier  favorU.e  child,  and  her  scarce- 
ly concealed  indifference  to  Mercy^s  wrongs  and  Mercy ^s 
sufferings — wrongs  and  sufferings  caused  by  him — pro- 
voked him  beyond  endurance.  He  took  his  leave  in  haste^ 
fearful  of  betraying  his  own  secret  if  he  stayed  longer. 

‘‘  You  must  not  wonder  if  I do  not  quite  share  your  de- 
light/^ he  said  to  her  at  parting.  “ On  me  devolves  the 
task  of  telling  this  girl  how  her  trust  has  been  betrayed, 
and  I confess  that  I shrink  from  it.  Be  as  happy  as  you 
like,  mother,  but  keep  the  matter  strictly  to  yourself;  do 
not  even  tell  Polly  until  we  hear  further  from  Ada  or 
Steve.  That  is  Ada^s  wish,  you  know.  You  will  certain- 
ly hear  again  from  them  in  a few  weeks  at  furthest. 

And  so  he  left  her— having  secured  to  himself  these 
“ few  weeks  of  silent  waiting,  wherein  to  prosecute  his 
plans  and  lay  siege  to  Mercy.  He  took  v/ith  him  the  false 
telegram  and  forged  letter. 

“ These  must  convince  her,^^  he  muttered  to  himself, 
as  he  went  home  late  in  the  afternoon.  “To-night  for 
rest,  and  then  to-morrow  to  take  these  to  Mercy.  1 have 
gone  too  far  now  to  turn  back.  AVhither  will  it  lead  me, 
I wonder,  this  crooked,  evil  road,  on  which  1 have  set  my 
feet,  and  on  which  I will  walk  steadily  to  the  end  for 
Mercy’s  sake?” 


CHAPTEP  XXXV. 

ACCEPTED. 

It  was  Friday,  the  fourth  day  since  that  on  which  Mercy 
had  intrusted  to  James  that  note  to  Steve,  in  which  she 
had  counseled  him  to  accept  his  brother’s  Californian  pro- 
posals, but  to  come  first  to  her  and  talk  the  matter  over. 
Four  days  and  no  answer  from  her  lover;  no,  not  so  much 
as  a single  line. 

The  girl  had  been  by  turns  surprised,  indignant,  puz- 
zled, anxious,  and  alarmed,  by  this  strange  silence,  all  the 


164 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


more  hard  to  bear  because  she  had  no  one  in  whom  she 
could  confide^  but  on  the  contrary  was  sensible  of  a certain 
air  of  satisfaction  and  complacency  in  her  mother’s  man- 
ner, which  undoubtedly  had  its  origin  in  Steve’s  apparent 
neglect. 

She  would  not  utter  her  anxieties,  which  might  have 
seemed  complaints,  to  one  who  was  so  ready  to  think  ill  of 
him,  and  who,  by  putting  the  worst  interpretation  upon 
his  silence,  would  only  add  to  her  fears  and  cares.  Neither 
would  she  humble  herself  to  own  that  she  had  fears.  But 
each  day  as  the  postman  passed  by  the  cottage  door  her 
eyes  grew  more  anxious  and  her  face  more  pale;  and  when 
at  last,  on  Friday  afternoon,  James  arrived  suddenly,  she 
flew  with  a scream  of  joy  to  meet  him,  so  relieved,  so 
thankful,  that  her  warm  cry  of  Oh,  welcome!  welcome, 
cousin!”  had  very  nearly  been  instead  a fervent  “ Oh, 
thank  God!” 

James  was  agitated  and  nervous,  and  very,  very  pale. 

She  noticed  that  the  instant  her  eyes  fell  on  him. 

In  the  same  instant  he  noticed  that  those  beautiful  dark 
eyes  had  merely  glanced  at  him,  and  then  passed  him  by, 
looking  eagerly  for  some  one  else  to  follow  behind  him. 

He  sighed  and  shook  his  head.  His  whole  air  and  man- 
ner was  so  grave,  so  sad,  so  depressed  that  Mercy’s  glad- 
ness changed  to  sudden  fear;  and  even  Jane  Craven,  who 
had  placed  a chair  for  him,  had  taken  his  hat  and  coat, 
asked,  anxiously: 

“ What  is  the  matter?  What  is  wrong?” 

He  answered  Mercy’s  eyes,  not  her  mother’s  words. 

“ I am  quite  alone,”  he  said,  with  a peculiar  emphasis, 
“ quite  alone.”  Then  passing  his  hand  over  his  brow 
with  an  anxious,  distressful  gesture,  “ You  would  not  have 
welcomed  me  so  warmly  if  you  had  known  that — you 
would  not  have  welcomed  me  at  all,  had  you  guessed,  my 
errand.  This  task  has  been  forced  upon  me,  and  I know 
what  awaits  the  messenger  who  brings  bad  news.” 


HTS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


165 


“ Hud  news?^^ 

It  was  Mercy  who  repeated  the  words,  in  a low,  startled 
tone.  No  one  else  spoke.  Then  she  brought  a chair  and 
sat  beside  him. 

‘"Tell  me  the  truth,^^  she  said,  earnestly,  “has  any- 
thing happened  to  Steve?  Is  he — is  he — ill,  cousin?^’ 

James  raised  his  eyes  to  her — only  for  a second — but  she 
saw  such  pity  in  his  glance  that  her  heart  sickened  with 
foreboding  pain. 

“Oh,  speak she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  in  agony, 
“ oh,  speak 

James  began  hastily: 

“ He  is  not  ill!  No,  no!  Don’t  look  so  frightened,,  he 
is  well  enough.” 

He  paused,  and  then  went  on  again,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Craven  first,  with  a sort  of  appeal,  as  if  asking  her  to  be 
his  witness. 

“I  swear  to  you  both,”  he  said,  earnestly,  “that  1 
shall  suffer  all  the  pain  I must  inflict  by  what  I am  obliged 
to  say.  I declare  to  you  both — I may  make  such  a dec- 
laration now  without  dishonor— that  I dearly  and  truly 
love  my  cousin  Mercy  here,  and  would  do  anything  to 
secure  her  happiness  or  spare  her  pain.  When  I saw  that 
her  heart  was  set  on  Steve,  I gave  up  my  own  hopes  in- 
stantly. She  knows  it.  When  he  came  to  me  the  other 
night  and  confessed  to  me  his  own  villainy,  and  asked  me 
to  tell  her  that  which  she  is  now  about  to  learn,  I refused 
to  be  the  messenger  of  grief  to  her,  and  insisted  on  his 
coming  in  person.  But  he  evaded  me,  and  left  me  this 
letter.” 

He  held  up  the  letter  and  telegram  before  the  eyes  of 
the  bewildered  girl. 

“ This  telegram  my  mother  received.  It  completes  the 
story  of  the  letter,  Mercy,  and  I must  either  give  them  to 
you  or  leave  you  in  cruel  suspense.” 


166 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


lie  placed  them  in  the  trembling  hands  which  she  held 
out  to  him. 

“ Oh,  my  dear!’^  he  said,  with  a tenderness  of  tone  that 
James  Eaymond’s  voice  had  never  known  before,  “ for- 
give me  for  thus  wounding  you!  He  was  never  worthy  of 
such  a heart  as  yours. 

And  as  he  turned  away  there  were  real  tears  in  his  eyes, 
called  there  by  the  pity  he  felt  for  the  wound  his  own  hand 
had  dealt,  and  would  not  refrain  from  dealing. 

Mercy  read  both  letter  and  telegram  in  silence  once, 
twice,  thrice. 

What  she  felt,  thought,  endured,  found  no  expression 
in  words,  while  to  her  very  lips  she  was  so  white  that  all 
the  life  in  her  seemed  concentrated  in  her  glowing  eyes,  as 
she  handed  the  lying  papers  to  her  mother,  and  said,  very 
quietly,  and  almost  in  her  usual  tone: 

Steve  has  married  Ada.^^ 

But  Jane  Craven  did  not  take  it  so  quietly.  The  inso- 
lent tone  of  pity  of  the  letter  aroused  her  to  indignant 
rage. 

“ The  presumptuous  fool!^^  she  cried,  angrily.  The 
‘ poor  girl,^  he  calls  you.  Ay,  poor  indeed,  when  you  set 
no  higher  value  on  yourself  than  give  yourself  to  him! 
He  ‘ hopes  you  will  not  take  it  much  to  heart, ^ too,  and 
James  here  is  to  ^ comfort  you!^  Congratulate  you  on 
your  escape,  would  be  more  in  order!  And  he  hopes  you 
will  ‘do  better  than  marry  him!^  You  couldn^t  well  do 
worse,  any  way!  Oh,  Mercy,  what  a fool  you  have  been! 
For  this  you  have  thrown  away  so  many  better  chances,  to 
be  slighted,  insulted,  jilted  like  this!  Who  do  you  think 
will  want  you  now?^’  She  flung  the  letter  from  her  as  if 
she  was  throwing  Mercy^s  hopes  and  chances  all  away  with 
it.  “ Why,  no  one!  ~No  man  wants  another  man^s  cast- 
off shoes!  No  man!^^ 

But  here  James  put  in  an  eager  word,  standing  before 
Mercy,  who  had  risen,  lashed  out  of  her  apathy  by  the 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN.  167 

sting  of  her  rnother^s  tongue,  and  was  about  to  leave  the 
room. 

“ Don^t  go,  dear  cousin,  until  you  hear  me!^^  he  cried, 
earnestly.  Mrs.  Craven,  I want  your  daughter!  Is  she 
less  charming,  less  desirable  and  dear  because  my  brother 
is  a fool?  1 adore  her!  Myself,  my  fortune,  all  I have 
and  am,  I offer  for  her  acceptance.  If  she  will  take  me 
she  shall  learn  what  true  love  is,  and  how  much  it  can  do 
to  make  her  happy.  Her  wish  shall  be  my  law,  and  to  see 
her  happy  my  delight,  if  she  will  only  have  me!  But  I 
don^t  expect  or  dare  to  hope  that  she  will,’^  he  added, 
humbly.  “ Nevertheless,  I make  the  offer  just  the  same, 
if  only  to  remove  from  the  woman  I love  the  reproach  you 
have  just  uttered,  that  no  man  wants  her.  When  any  one 
says  that  Steve  Eaymond  jilted  her,  answer  them  that 
James  Eaymond  laid  himself  and  his  fortune  at  her  feet, 
and  that  she  rejected  him!’^ 

Suddenly  Mercy  held  out  to  him  her  hand.  There  was 
a strange  smile  on  her  pale  lips  and  a strange  light  in  her 
eyes. 

% 

‘‘Why  should  we  say  that  she  rejected  him?^^  she 
asked,  just  as  quietly  as  she  had  spoken  to  her  mother. 
“ Should  you  not  like  her  to  accept  him,  cousin?^^ 

He  fell  back  from  her  as  if  the  words  had  been  a blow. 
He  gasped  as  if  the  very  thought  had  taken  his  breath 
away. 

“ Impossible  !^^  he  stammered.  “You  will  not!  You 
are  mocking  me!^^ 

“ No,  indeed,^^  she  answered,  with  the  same  strange, 
pale  calm  upon  her,  “ I am  very  much  in  earnest.  Cous- 
in James.  Steve  is  married,  and  I am  not  the  girl  to  wear 
the  willow  for  a false  love,  believe  me.  You  say  you  de- 
sire me  for  your  wife.  If  you  are  in  earnest — if  you  are 
not  mocking  me—” 

“ Oh,  Mercy!”  He  sprung  forward,  there  was  no  mis- 


168 


HIS  COUNTEY  COUSIN'. 


taking  his  eyes;  she  shuddered  and  shrunk  from  him  just 
a little.  “ Oh,  my  dear,  I love  you!^^ 

She  hesitated  for  an  instant  only.  Jane  Craven  watched 
and  listened  breathlessly,  but  forbore  to  speak.  Mercy 
held  out  her  hand  to  James  once  more. 

“ Then  my  hand  is  yours,^^  she  said.  “ I accept  your 
offer,  cousin.  I will  he  your  wife.-^^ 

He  kissed  her  hand. 

“ Soon,  Mercy?  Will  you  wed  me  soon?^^  he  asked. 
And  she  answered,  listlessly: 

“ As  soon  as  you  please.'’^ 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

‘‘eevenge  is  sweet. 

SuEELY  never  before  did  success  smile  so  fairly  upon 
guilty  plotting  or  rush  so  instantly  to  meet  it.  James 
Raymond,  however,  could  hardly  have  looked  paler,  or 
been  more  stunned,  had  his  good  fortune  been  a grisly 
ghost,  that,  rising  up  before  him  unawares,  had  frightened 
all  the  life  and  color  out  of  him. 

Jane  Craven  gazed  in  wonder  at  his  white,  stern,  hag- 
gard face,  and  even  Mercy,  through  all  her  mad,  though 
hidden,  passion  of  rage,  revenge,  and  grief,  was  sensible  of 
a faint  and  fleeting  sensation  of  surprise  at  her  accepted 
lover’s  strange  emotion. 

“ He  looks  like  a man  who  has  received  his  death-war- 
rant, rather  than  one  who  has  just  been  promised  the  hand 
of  the  woman  he  loves!”  was  the  thought  that  passed  list- 
lessly through  her  mind;  and  although  the  idea  made  no 
strong  or  enduring  impression  upon  her  at  the  time,  it 
recurred  to  her  with  vivid  force  and  clearer  comprehension 
afterward. 

ITl  marry  you  when  you  please,”  she  had  said,  with 
cold  and  listless  indifference  that  might  have  wounded 
him,  had  he"  not  been  too  glad  of  the  consent  to  quarrel 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


100 

wiLli  the  niiimier  of  it;  but  when  he  would  have  kissed  the 
hiuid  she  gave,  it  was  withdrawn,  and,  when  seeing  her 
about  to  leave  him,  he  would  have  detained  her,  and  urged 
her  to  name  some  definite  and  early  day,  she  only  answered 
coldly : 

“ Do  not  detain  me  now;  settle  it  with  my  mother. 
Cousin  James.  I will  abide  by  her  decision,  and  keep  my 
word  to  you;  but  let  me  go  now,  I beg  of  you. 

And  he,  knowing  himself  a guilty  criminal  and  her 
wronger — forced,  even  in  this  moment  of  success,  to  look 
forward  with  dread  to  the  certain  retribution  of  the  future 
— he  did  not  dare  to  oppose  her  wishes  by  a look  or  word, 
but  bowed  his  head,  and  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass,  in 
silence. 

As  a fact,  the  success  which  had  followed  upon  his  vile 
schemes  had  been  so  sudden  and  so  complete  that  it  actu- 
ally stunned  him. 

He  had  been  prepared  for  waiting  and  delay;  for  tedious 
scheming  to  keep  up  appearances;  for  endless  plotting  to 
perfect  and  carry  out  the  villainy  which  had  seemed  only 
begun. 

His  mother,  satisfied  at  present,  must  be  kept  so — per- 
haps for  months;  Steve,  safely  disposed  of  for  the  mo- 
ment, must  be  watched  and  guarded,  lest,  at  any  time,  his 
escape  and  reappearance  on  the  scene  should  ruin  all. 
Mercy  herself  must  be  managed  with  the  utmost  care — 
convinced  of  Stevens  perfidy;  weaned  gradually  from  her 
love  for  him;  persuaded— perhaps  only  with  tedious  diffi- 
culty— into  this  new  and  more  advantageous  marriage — it 
would  all  be  the  task  of  anxious,  weary,  torturing  months, 
he  had  thought,  and  lo!  an  hour  had  perfected  the  hardest 
part  of  the  work!  Mercy  had  believed  him  at  once — torn 
her  false  lover  from  her  heart  and  life,  and  given  him, 
James,  the  desire  of  his  heart  and  the  reward  of  his  wick- 
edness in  the  promise,  “ Til  marry  you  when  you  please. 

When  he  pleased — why,  of  course  that  would  be  im- 


170 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


meditiioly — not  exactly  to-day  or  to-morrow^  perha2>s— 
something  in  the  look,  in  the  involuntary  shudder  of  the 
bride-elect,  warned  him  that  she  would  hardly  tolerate 
being  taken  quite  so  literally  at  her  word;  but  in  a few 
days,  perhaps,  or  a week  or  two  at  furthest.  Why,  they 
could  be  on  their  way  to  Europe  and  Steve  at  liberty  be- 
fore Mrs.  Eaym.ond^s -suspicions  began  to  awake — before, 
by  any  possibility,  that  other  danger — the  danger  of  Ada^s 
hearing  of  her  supposed  marriage  and  contradicting  the 
report — could  come  to  ruin  him.  As  he  realized  how  fa- 
vorable all  his  prospects  seemed,  the  ghastly  pallor  of  his 
face  warmed  into  something  more  like  living  color,  and  its 
haggard,  stern  expression  changed  to  one  of  expectant 
hope,  as  he  turned  toward  Jane  Craven. 

She  had  been  watching  him  in  silence.  No  change  of 
his  face  had  escaped  her.  She  had  seen  the  shock  of  his 
surprise — the  powerful  secret  terror  that  in  the  first  mo- 
ment killed  his  joy— the  shrinking  fear  of  Mercy,  the  hope 
and  confidence  that  gradually  grew  out  of  his  silent  train 
of  thought  and  chased  his  doubts  away.  The  result  of 
this  scrutiny  was  that  she  mastered  so  much  of  his  secret 
as  the  knowledge  that  he  had  a secret,  and  even  made  a 
shrewd  guess,  though  wide  of  the  mark,  as  to  its  nature. 

“He  is  hiding  something^ — something  of  which  he  is 
afraid, she  thought.  “But  he  loves  Mercy.  Is  he  de- 
ceiving us  for  his  own  purposes?  Has  he  brought  about 
Stevens  sudden  marriage?  For  most  certainly  he  loves 
Mercy.  Ay,  so  much  that  I think  1 can  make  what  terms 
with  him  I please  before  I consent  to  let  him  marry  her."^^ 

So  she  concealed  her  real  delight  at  the  proposed  ar- 
rangement, and  met  his  advances  so  coolly,  though  kind- 
ly, too,  that  James  took  alarm,  and  began  to  fear  that  the 
road  to  guilty  happiness  lay  not  quite  so  clear  and  smooth 
before  him  as  he  had  flattered  himself,  after  all. 

“ Mercy  is  an  impulsive  girl,^^  said  Mrs.  Craven,  grave- 
ly, aiul  smarting — you  must  remember,  James — under 


HIS  COUNTRY  COL'SIISr.  171 

the  sting  of  this  base  desertion.  It  would  be  wise,  for  both 
your  sakes,  to  give  her  time  to  consider. 

“ And  to  change  her  rnind!’^  cried  Janies,  bitterly.  In 
his  secret  soul  he  added:  And  to  find  out  what  1 have 

done!"^ 

A terror  seized  him.  Under  its  influence  he  pleaded  his 
cause  to  Jane  far  more  warmly  than  he  could  have  done  to 
her  daughter. 

‘‘  Let  me  marry  her  at  once,^^  he  cried,  ‘‘  and  take  her 
far  away  before  the  story  gets  known,  I will  surround  her 
with  luxury  and  pleasure — take  her  abroad — make  any 
settlement  you  think  proper — 

Jane  took  him  up  at  that. 

“ You  know  we  are  poor,^^  she  said,  “ and  yet  you  urge 
immediate  marriage.  My  daughter  can  not  enter  your 
family  quite  unprepared.  Even  if  we  were  rich,  some  time 
— a month,  perhaps — must  be  devoted  to  her  wardrobe, 
for  instance.  Being  poor,  I shall  require  about  six  months 
to  make  her  fit  for — 

She  got  no  further.  Want  of  money  was  an  obstacle  to 
his  happiness  which  James  could  easily  remove.  And  he 
lost  no  time  in  doing  so. 

“ 1 will  place  five  thousand  dollars  to  your  credit  in  any 
bank  you  please,^^  he  said,  eagerly,  ‘‘as  soon  as  1 get 
home.  If  that  is  not  enough,  say  what  you  require.  Only 
say  that  1 shall  marry  her  within  the  month.  Aunt  Cra- 
ven, for  Heaven^s  sake!^^ 

His  earnestness,  as  well  as  his  generosity,  touched  her. 
The  amount  he  named  would  do,  she  said,  and  she  would 
have  it  banked  in  Philadelphia,  and  take  Mercy  there  at 
once  to  make  her  purchases.  Perhaps,  she  suggested,  the 
wedding  might  as  well  take  place  there  also,  a proposal  to 
which  James  assented  at  once. 

But  when  Mercy  came  to  be  consulted  on  this  point, 
they  found  they  had  been  reckoning  without  their  host. 


172 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


She  refused  to  go  to  Philadelphia  at  all,  or  to  taRe  any 
part  in  the  preparations  her  mother  deemed  necessary. 

“1  am  very  well  as  I am/^  she  said,  coldly,  ‘^and 
James  has  liked  me  as  I am.  If  he  wishes  me  different  it 
will  be  time  enough  for  me  to  change  when  I am  his  wife, 
I will  stay  here  until  I am  married,  and  be  married  here. 
x\s  for  wedding-dress,  outfit,  and  all  that,  I don’t  see  the 
necessity  at  all;  but  if  you  do,  mother,  all  I can  say  is, 
you  must  select  them  entirely  yourself;  I will  not  be 
troubled  about  them. 

James  saw  in  this  answer  a disposition  to  repent  of  the 
engagement  she  had  so  rashly  made,  perhaps  even  a desire 
to  find  a pretext  for  quarreling  with  him  and  breaking  it. 

He  was  too  clever  to  give  her  any  such  excuse,  and  only 
answered,  soothingly: 

‘‘  I wish  no  change  in  you,  dearest  Mercy.  You  are  per- 
fection in  my  eyes.  1 shall  be  only  too  glad  if  you  will 
dispense  altogether  with  these  preparations  which,  your 
mother  says,  will  occupy  a whole  long  month,  and  marry 
me  without  any  delay  whatever.  Why  could  we  not  be 
married  very  quietly  indeed,  next  week?^^ 

But  on  this  Mercy  instantly  went  over  to  her  mother’s 
side,  and  declared  that  such  haste,  without  any  reason, 
would  be  scarcely  decent. 

“And  my  mother  knows  best,  of  course,”  she  said, 
wearily,  “ and  some  preparations  are  necessary.  Surely  a 
month  is  a very  short  time  to  make  them  in!  However — 
so  that  I am  not  annoyed  in  the  meantime,  let  it  be  just  as 
she  says.”  ' 

For,  even  while  she  shrunk  from  the  thought  of  this 
marriage,  she  welcomed  it  as  a method  of  revenge. 

Steve  would  learn  that  she  had  soon  replaced  him.  Ada 
would  not  triumph  over  a broken-hearted  and  defeated 
rival. 

On  the  contrary,  she  resolved : 

“ I will  defeat  her  yet!  James  shall  take  me  where  they 


HIS  COUKTKY  COUSIN. 


173 


iire,  and  when  my  beauty  has  such  a setting  as  wealth  can 
give,  it  shall  go  hard  if  1 don^t  outshine  this  pink-and- 
white  piece  of  prettiness,  and  make  Steve  repent  his  bar- 
gain! She  has  taken  my  lover  from  me.  Let  her  look 
out  that  I don^t  make  her  husband  pay!  They  have 
robbed  me  of  happiness,  but  revenge  remains,  at  least, 
and  I will  have  it!^^ 

Such  was  the  unworthy  motive  that  had  led  the  de- 
ceived, unhappy  girl  to  consent  so  rashly  to  a hateful  mar- 
riage; such  was  the  sole  hope  that  Mercy  saw  in  the  fut- 
ure that  lay  beyond  her  wedding-day. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AWAKING. 

And  in  the  meantime,  while  James  exulted  in  the  suc- 
cess of  his  plans,  and  Mrs.  Raymond  rejoiced  over  her 
song’s  supposed  marriage;  while  Mercy  rashly  credited  a 
lying  story,  and  madly  seeking  revenge  for  slighted  love, 
prepared  for  herself  a life  of  misery — what  had  become  of 
Steve? 

The  place  in  which  he  found  himself  lying,  when  at  last 
a kind  of  consciousness  broke  through  the  stupor  that  en- 
chained his  senses  and  lay  upon  his  limbs  like  lead,  was  a 
kind  of  cave. 

Small  in  its  general  dimensions,  and  unevenly  shaped, 
but  very  lofty,  and  having  a hole,  or  narrow  slit  at  the 
very  top,  through  which  he  could  see  the  shining  stars. 

He  lay  and  looked  at  them  a long  time  before  he  under- 
stood that  they  were  stars,  or  that  the  place  wherein  he 
was  lying  was  a cave,  or  that  this  helpless  figure— bound 
at  the  wrists  and  ankles,  and  prostrate  on  a couch  of  skins 
and  straw — was  he,  himself,  Steve  Raymond. 

And  when  at  last  his  slowly  reviving  consciousness  had 
tediously  crept  and  toiled,  as  it  were,  from  one  of  those 
facts  to  the  othei’,  until  it  gradually  mastered  them  all. 


174 


HIS  COUHTBY  COUSm. 


and  he  grew  certain  of  his  own  identity,  and  could  say  to 
himself — very  brokenly  and  low,  and  with  great  diflBculty, 
because  of  a carious  dryness  of  his  mouth  and  swelling  of 
his  tongue— “ This  is  Steve  Raymond,  bound,  and  lying  in 
a cave/^  Even  then  his  utmost  efforts  failed  to  pierce  or 
drive  away  the  thick  mist  that  enshrouded  his  memory,  or 
help  him  to  any  rational  explanation  of  how  and  why  he 
came  to  be  there. 

While  he  lay — very  quiet  and  still  in  body,  but  sorely 
struggling  and  darkly  groping  through  the  mazes  of  this 
mystery  in  mind — his  eyes,  leaving  the  shining  stars  and 
roving  round  the  stone  walls  of  his  prison,  encountered  the 
dark  face  of  a man. 

It  gave  him  a strong  and  sudden  shock.  Some  secret 
chord  of  memory  was  touched,  and  vibrated  with  a thrill 
of  horror.  Who  was  this  man?  Where  had  he  seen  him? 
As  these  questions  formed  themselves  slowly  in  his  dull 
and  clouded  brain  there  came  with  them  a strange,  wholly 
instinctive  impulse  to  spring  at  the  man  and  hurl  him  to 
the  ground,  and  denounce  him  as  a murderer  and  a vil- 
lain. The  words  “ You  villain,^^  trembled  on  his  lips, 
and  his  bound  and  helpless  form  made  one  passionate 
effort  to  rise,  when  the  man^s  hand — laid  firmly  on  his 
chest — forced  him  back,  and  the  man^s  voice,  sounding  in 
his  ears  as  if  it  came  from  a great  distance  off,  said  to 
him,  ‘‘  Are  you  thirsty ?^^ 

He  was  thirsty.  So  thirsty  that  his  mouth  burned  like 
fire,  and  his  tongue  felt  all  swollen,  and  too  large  for  it. 
At  sight  of  the  drink  which  the  man  offered  him  this  sore 
physical  need  overpowered  all  other  thoughts  and  feelings. 
He  felt  a hand  passed  under  his  head  to  lift  it  from  the 
pillow  — felt  the  cool,  refreshing  draught  creep  to  his 
parching  lips — drank  of  it,  gladly,  deeply,  eagerly,  and 
fell  back  almost  instantly  into  the  heavy  stupor  from 
which  he  had  just  been  beginning  to  emerge. 

How  long  it  held  him  he  had  no  means  of  knowing,  but 


HIS  rOUNTRY  COUSTN". 


I7r> 


^ when  he  next  awoke,  or  aroused — for  his  state  had  been 
,1’ather  that  of  insensibility  tlian  of  sleep — the  stars  were 
lio  longer  visible  in  the  patch  of  sky,  and  the  sky  itself  was 
blue  and  bright,  as  if  with  daylight  and  sunshine.  Slowly 
the  comprehension  came  to  him  that  this  was  day;  but 
whether  morning  or  afternoon,  whether  the  day  following 
the  night  of  his  first  awaking,  when  he  saw  the  stars,  or 
whether  he  had  slept  through  a day  and  another  night, 
and  so  awoke  to  another  day  again,  all  this  was  a riddle 
which  he  had  scarcely  sufficient  energy  to  wonder  over — 
certainly  not  enough  to  attempt  its  solution. 

Still  he  remembered,  and  his  muddled  brain  retained 
the  discoveries  which  he  had  so  slowly  and  painfully  made 
in  his  last  period  of  consciousness:  “This  is  Steve  Ray- 
mond— bound  hand  and  foot  and  lying  in  a cave.'’^  He 
could  think  that  over,  and  understand  that  it  was  so,  and 
wonder  feebly  how  it  came  to  be  so.  And  thus  far  his 
condition  was  in  advance  of  and  improved  from  what  it 
had  been  at  his  first  awaking.  Holding  fast  to  that  much 
information,  and  groping  helplessly  through  the  recesses 
of  his  darkened  memory  and  understanding  for  more,  he 
came  suddenly  upon  a dim  recollection  of  the  man  who 
had  given  him  drink. 

Springing  up  with  this  memory,  side  by  side  with  it  like 
a shadow,  came  the  same  thrill  of  nameless  horror  with 
which  he  had  first  seen  the  dark  face  gazing  on  him,  came 
the  same  impulse  to  cry  out — he  thought  he  actually  did 
cry  out,  but  no  sound  came  from  his  faintly  moving  lips — 
“You  villain And  this  time  the  words,  whether  ut- 
tered or  only  thought,  struck  the  same  chord  of  memory 
which  the  face  of  the  man  had  touched,  and  lifted,  in  a 
very  small  degree,  the  clouds  from  about  his  brain.  He 
suddenly  remembered  tliat  he  had  used  those  words  before, 
and  where,  and  when,  and  how  he  had  uttered  them.  As  to 
where— it  was  in  the  little  cottage  in  the  wood  to  which  the 
strange  man — ah!  the  clouds  were  lifting  more  and  more! 


176 


HTS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


lie  knew  the  dark  face  now;  it  was  the  face  of  the  man 
who  liad  betrayed  him!  When  had  he  used  those  words? 
Why,  when  he  felt  the  strange  and  heavy  stupor  overpow- 
ering him  after  he  had  drunk  a glass  of  beer  and  sat  down 
to  wait  for  Mercy.  Mercy!  One  idea  awoke  another;  his 
brain  was  growing  clearer  and  more  clear  so  far  as  memory 
went,  at  least. 

He  remembered  the  strange  man,  the  letter,  the  words 
with  James;  the  disappointment  of  not  finding  Mercy 
there;  the  man^s  explanation  of  her  absence  and  promise 
to  bring  her  instantly. 

He  remembered  how  James  had  detained  the  man  by 
asking  him  for  a drink,  and  his  own  annoyance,  though 
he  had  been  strangely  thirsty  too,  at  the  delay  which  the 
request  occasioned. 

For  the  man  had  brought  out  glasses  and  beer  in  hos- 
pitable fashion,  so  that  he,  Steve,  in  spite  of  his  real  im- 
patience, could  do  no  less  than  drink. 

Thus  far  he  remembered  all  clearly — but  what  came 
afterward? 

The  man  went  out  at  the  cottage  door — he  was  sure  of 
that,  leaving  him  and  James  together.  They  sat  silent, 
for  there  seemed  ill-will  between  them;  and  the  suspicion 
— vague  but  persistent — which  had  haunted  him — Steve — 
on  the  niglit  before,  grew  stronger  and  stronger  every  mo- 
ment. They  sat  silent,  waiting,  watching  each  other 
furtively,  and  James  was  ghastly  pale. 

Through  all  the  muddle  and  confusion  of  his  recollec- 
tions, Steve  could  remember  his  brother’s  death-like  face, 
and  his  own  wondering  horror  at  such  an  unusual  degree 
of  pallor. 

‘‘It  is  like  sitting  face  to  face  with  an  animated 
corpse,”  he  had  said  to  himself;  and  he  now  remembered 
having  thought  out  that  very  idea  in  those  very  words. 

But  that  was  his  last  clear  memory.  After  that  all  was 
confused.  Some  recollections  of  having  attempted  to  re- 


ms  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


177 


iiuirk  that  the  man  was  a long  time  gone,  and  of  linding  a 
curious  difiiculty  in  liis  speech  that  alarmed  him — of  try- 
ing to  rise  from  his  chair  and  discovering  that  the  strange 
11  umbhess  extended  to  his  limbs — of  seeing  James  rise  up 
before  him  with  a look  on  his  white  face  that  suddenly 
flashed  all  the  smoldering  suspicion  of  his  recent  thoughts 
into  a furious  fire — of  springing  toward  him  with  that 
cry:  ‘‘  Oh,  you  villain on  his  lips.  Of  hearing  the  door 
open  and  knowing  that  the  man  had  returned — of  being 
seized  from  behind  and  dragged  back  into  his  chair — of 
struggling  fiercely  but  feebly,  and  feeling  strength  and 
consciousness  ebbing  away;  and  feeling  also  that  it  was 
not  so  much  his  antagonist's  superior  strength  as  his  own 
increasing  weakness  and  faintness  that  overpowered  him. 

These  recollections  — vague,  clouded,  confused,  and 
mixed  with  a sense  of  keenest  mental  anguish,  and  heavy, 
dull,  bodily  pain,  crowded  upon  his  brain;  not  clearly  as 
distinct  thoughts  or  memories,  but  floating  like  dim  vis- 
ions among  the  fumes  and  vapors  of  the  poisonous  drug 
that  had  been  given  him,  and  whose  effect  was  so  strong 
upon  him  still  that  collected  thought  or  logical  reasoning 
was  impossible.  He  could  remember  up  to  a certain 
point,  but  he  could  not  argue  or  reason  about  the  events 
he  remembered. 

Here  was  Steve  Raymond,  who  had  gone,  in  company 
with  a stranger  and  his  brother  James,  to  a cottage  in  the 
woods  to  meet  Mercy  Craven — now  lying  bound,  and  feel- 
ing sick  almost  unto  death,  in  a place  that  seemed  like  a 
cave.  That  much  he  knew  and  no  more.  His  instinctive 
rage  of  suspicion  against  James,  which  had  induced  him  to 
spring  at  him  in  the  cottage,  and  his  impulse  to  denounce 
the  strange  man  as  a villain  even  now,  were  instincts 
merely.  He  knew  no  cause  for  them,  and  while  he  wearily 
and  feebly  sought  for  one  in  the  recesses  of  his  darkened 
mind,  the  object  of  his  painful  marveling  entered. 


178 


HIS  COUHTRy  COUSIH. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 

IN  THE  TRAP. 

A POWERFUL,  swarthy,  gypsy-looking  fellow,  who  stood 
for  a few  seconds  at^the  foot  of  the  rough  couch,  and  then, 
coming  close  to  the  passive  victim,  felt  his  pulse,  as  a phy- 
sician might,  and  laid  a cool  hand  on  his  burning,  aching 
brow,  and  looked  into  his  eyes.  Seeing  that  Steve  strove 
to  speak,  but  could  only  utter  inarticulate  sounds,  he 
raised  a warning  finger,  bidding  him  desist. 

“ Wait  awhile,^^  said  he,  coolly.  “ You’ve  had  a pretty 
stiff  dose,  young  fellow.  You\e  been  lying  two  days  and 
nights  without  any  proper  nourishment,  and  you  ain^t  in 
trim  for  talking.  ITl  fetch  you  something  thatTl  do  you 
good,  though.” 

And  he  turned  and  went  away,  and  left  Steve  wonder- 
ing. 

Two  nights  and  days!  His  head — light  from  the  want 
of  food,  as  well  as  from  the  effects  ctf  the  drug  he  had 
taken — seemed  to  swim  round  and  round.  Two  nights 
and  days!  How  could  it  be  so?  What  had  happened  to 
him?  What  was  this  place? 

Glancing  wildly  around  him,  he  now  noticed  an  opening 
in  one  of  the  sides  of  the  cave,  so  low  that,  if  it  served  the 
purpose  of  a door,  his  captor,  jailer,  or  whatever  the 
strange  man  might  be,  must  surely  be  under  the  necessity 
of  stooping  low  in  order  to  enter  or  depart  by  it.  As  he 
gazed  upon  it  the  man  came  through  it,  stooping  low  in- 
deed, and  bearing  in  his  hands  a plate  of  food  and  a bowl 
in  which  some  savory  broth  smelled  temptingly. 

These  viands,  beginning  with  the  broth,  he  administered 
to  Steve,  feeding  him  as  he  might  have  fed  a child.  The 
poor  fellow  took  the  food  readily  enough,  for  he  was  sore 
in  need  of  it.  Being  fed  and  refreshed,  he  made  another 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


179 


attempt  to  speak;  and  this  time,  though  the  words  came 
with  difficulty,  and  his  voice  was  a whisper  merely,  he 
succeeded  in  making  himself  understood. 

Two  days!^^  he  murmured,  brokenly.  ‘‘  How  came  I 
here?  What  place  is  this?  Who  are  you?  Where  is  my 
brother?"^ 

The  man  interrupted  him  roughly. 

“Young  fellow,^^  he  said,  “you  keep  quiet,  and  what 
you^d  ought  to  know  ITl  tell  you.  And  mind — what^s 
happened  to  you  canT  be  helped  or  altered  by  no  efforts  o^ 
yours,  and  had  best  be  quietly  submitted  to  and  made  the 
best  of.  What  place  is  this?  you  ask  me.  Well,  seeing 
that  you  canT  get  out  until  I choose  to  let  you,  I donT 
mind  telling  you.  This  here  is  a cave  in  Dickerson's 
Woods,  several  miles  from  your  sweetheart^s  cottage. 
When  1 say  your  sweetheart,  I ought  to  say  your  broth- 
er^’s  sweetheart,  for  he’s  the  man  that  is  to  marry  her.  As 
to  how  you  got  here,  why  you  walked  here  like  a lamb  to 
the  slaughter,  fooled  by  a false  letter,  as  him  and  me 
agreed  upon,  and  after  you  was  stupid  from  the  dose  I’d 
given  you  in  your  beer,  him  and  me  just  carried  you  in 
here  and  put  you  to  bed  like  a baby.  Them  straps  upon 
your  legs  and  arms  is  to  make  sure  of  keeping  you  now 
we’ve  got  you.  No  harm  is  going  to  happen  to  you,  but 
the  contrary.  You  haven’t  a dollar  in  the  world,  and  you 
wanted  to  marry  a handsome  gal  that  hasn’t  a dollar 
either,  and  your  best  friends  can’t  do  kinder  by  you  than 
prevent  you.  And  the  best  and  safest  way  to  do  that  is  to 
find  her  another  husband,  which  will  be  your  brother 
James.  And  until  they’re  married  you’re  to  board  with 
me,  and  I’ll  take  care  not  to  lose  sight  of  you!” 

To  describe  the  feelings  of  the  helpless  captive  to  whom 
this  speech  was  addressed  would  be  impossible.  Eage, 
grief,  fear,  despair  well-nigh  maddened  him.  To  lie  here, 
trapped  and  bound,  and  know  that  she — his  love— was 
waiting,  wondering,  grieving  at  his  absence^ — an  absence 


180 


HIS  COUisTRY  COUSIlsr. 


that  would  doubtless  be  made  to  appear  like  gross  neglect; 
to  remember  how  proud  and  spirited  she  was,  and  how 
quick  she  would  be  to  resent  the  seeming  insult;  all  the 
more  so  because  it  was  undeniable  that  he  had  given  her 
cause  for  jealousy  and  doubt  before  in  the  matter  of  Ada; 
to  think  of  her  beauty,  of  Jameses  passion  for  her,  and  the 
wealth  that  would  find  favor  in  her  mother’s  eyes,  and 
make  her  his  willing  ally;  these  thoughts  drove  him  almost 
mad. 

He  raved,  gathering  brief  and  delusive  strength  from 
the  passion  of  his  despair,  and  plucked  at  the  bonds  that 
held  him  so  furiously,  that  for  a few  seconds  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  he  would  break  them  and  be  free- 

But  that  was  for  a moment  only.  In  the  next  the  sub- 
tle poison  still  coursing  through  his  veins  had  gained  the 
mastery  again  of  nerve  and  brain,  and  he  fell  back  weak 
and  panting. 

“You  have  destroyed  me!”  he  groaned,  in  agony. 
“ What’s  come  to  me?  Where’s  my  brain,  my  strength? 
What  devil’s  drink  have  you  dosed  me  with?  Have  you — 
have  you  poisoned  me?” 

The  man  laughed  sneeringly. 

“ Devil  a bit!”  said  he.  “ Your  loving  brother  thinks 
too  much  of  you  for  that;  he  wouldn’t  hear  of  killing  you. 
You’re  worth  a few  thousand  dollars  to  me  if  I give  you 
back  to  him — after  his  marriage — alive.  The  stuff  you 
drank  is  harmless  enough,  unless  you  take  too  much  of  it. 
^ No  real  harm  was  to  come  to  you,’  he  said.  He  wouldn’t 
have  you  really  harmed — he  meant  murdered — ‘ not  even 
for  Mercy’s  sake!’  ” 

Steve  groaned  again  in  the  anguish  of  his  impotent  de- 
spair and  rage. 

“ No  real  harm!”  he  panted.  “ And  yet  he  will  steal 
her  from  me!  Oh,  villain!  villain!  But  he  shall  not!  I 
am  weak  now.  You’ve  poisoned  me  and  starved  me,  un- 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN.  181 

til  my  strength  is  gone,  but  wait  awhile  and  see  if  you  can 
hold  me!  1 will  be  free!^^ 

Again  the  man  laughed — out  loudly  this  time,  and  with 
open  mockery. 

“ I that  caught  you  can  be  trusted  to  keep  you!^^  said 
he.  “Youwon^t  get  out  of  the  trap  so  easily,  my  gay 
bird!  What?  D^ye  think  I don^t  know  how  to  clip  your 
wings?  No,  no.  Put  all  that  nonsense  out  of  your  head. 
You  won^t  get  out  until  the  bells  have  rung  for  Mercy 
Craven^s  wedding.  The  time  of  it  may  be  far  off  or  near, 
but  here  you  stay  until  James  marries  her.  She  wonT 
hold  out  long,  I guess,  when  she^s  told  that  you^re  false  to 
her,  and  off  and  away  with  another  girl;  she^s  a proud 
spirit,  is  Mercy.  Get  out!^^  he  laughed  again,  in  great 
enjoyment  of  the  presumptuous  thought.  ‘‘  Why,  try  it! 
Why,  if  you  could  get  out  with  me  guarding  you,  and  de- 
termined as  I am  that  you  shall  not  escape  me,  I’d  say  you 
deserved  to  marry  her!  You’d  prove  yourself  a smarter 
fellow  than  1 take  you  for!  Come!”  he  stood  looking 
down  upon  his  victim  with  malicious  merriment  in  his 
black  eyes  and  a provoking  smile  displaying  his  white 
teeth — “ come,  now.  I’ll  make  you  an  offer.  I’ve  said 
that  Mercy  shall  marry  James  Eaymond,  and  ” — with  a 
savage  oath — “ so  she  shall!  But  make  good  your  boast; 
get  back  your  strength,  and  get  free  in  spite  of  me,  and 
hang  me  if  1 won’t  say  you’ve  fairly  won  the  girl,  and  I’ll 
agree  to  stand  aside  and  let  you  marry  her!” 

Steve  heard  him  with  indignant  rage,  the  fiercer  for  his 
inability  to  give  it  adequate  expression. 

You’ll  ‘agree;’  and  ‘you’ve  said  who  Mercy  Craven 
shall  marry!’  ” he  repeated,  in  low,  faint  tones  that  thrilled 
with  scornful  anger.  “ You  make  too  free  with  the  lady’s 
name,  you  scoundrel!  Who  are  you  that  you  should  inter- 
fere in  her  affairs?  What  are  you,  villain?” 

The  man  laughed  loud  and  long.  Steve’s  hard  words 
did  not  seem  to  ruffle  him  at  all;  perhaps  the  contrast  be- 


182 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN’. 


tween  their  high  spirit  and  their  faint,  low  tone,  amused 
him.  He  sat  down  and  had  his  laugh  out  before  he  an- 
swered, mockingly: 

Who  am  I that  I make  so  free  with  pretty  Mercy ^s 
name  and  take  the  trouble  to  choose  her  a fitting  husband? 
And  what  am  I?  Those  are  your  questions,  are  they?  1^11 
answer  the  second  one  first.  What  am  I?  A gypsy,  a 
poacher,  a scamp,  a rogue,  and  your  jailer.  And  who  am 
I?^^  He  rose  from  his  seat  and  stood  tall  and  dark  and 
defiant  beside  the  bed.  ‘‘  My  name,  when  1 choose  to  go 
by  it^ — is  Eoy  Craven,  my  young  friend,  and  I have  the 
honor  to  be  your  handsome  sweetheart’s  father!’’ 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

OH  THE  TRACK. 

Jahe  Craveh  went  to  Philadelphia  to  make  the  neces- 
sary purchases  for  her  daughter’s  wedding  outfit,  and 
Mercy  remained  at  the  cottage,  quite  alone. 

She  refused  to  allow  James  to  call  upon  her  during  her 
mother’s  absence,  averring  that  she  both  desired  and 
needed  solitude,  and  that  they  two  would  be  likely  to  see 
quite  enough  of  each  other  when  they  should  be  husband 
and  wife. 

From  the  very  first  she  had  taken  this  tone  of  mere 
civility  and  bare  toleration  with  her  accepted  suitor,  and 
she  maintained  it  without  remonstrance  from  him,  for  he 
felt  that  he  dared  not  venture  upon  any. 

This  questionable  good — the  possession  of  a woman’s 
hand  without  her  heart — which  he  had  dared  so  much  to 
win,  was  his  as  yet  upon  such  slight  and  questionable 
grounds  of  holding  that  the  merest  trifle— a word  of  com- 
plaint on  his  own  part,  for  instance,  giving  excuse  for  an 
angry  humor  upon  hers — might  upset  his  claim,  and  dash 
his  hopes,  and  let  the  rich  prize,  on  which  his  grasp  had 
not  yet  firmly  closed,  slip  through  his  fingers  altogether. 


HIvS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


183 


So  he  consoled  himself  as  best  he  eoiild  by  looking  forward 
to  the  near  future. 

“ In  one  month/^  he  said  to  himself — “ in  four  short 
weeks  I shall  take  her  away  and  have  her  all  my  own  for- 
ever. I can  afford  to  be  patient  now — and,  indeed,  I need 
some  time  in  town  to  perfect  my  plans  and  make  arrange- 
ments for  a lengthy  absence.  It  won^t  do  to  bring  her 
back  under  a year  or  two,  until  she  has  had  time  to  quite 
forget  her  silly  fancy  for  Steve — 1 must  make  arrange- 
ments for  that.^’ 

Besides  all  this,  he  was  rather  afraid  of  the  cold,  stern, 
beautiful  girl  whom  he  had  tricked  and  cheated,  and  was  a 
prey  to  all  sorts  of  nervous  terrors  concerning  Steve  him- 
self. Neither  was  he  free  from  a certain  remorse,  which 
he  strove  to  stifle  and  silence  by  making  a liberal  provision 
for  his  young  brother  by  way  of  amends. 

For  a long  time  it  puzzled  him  sorely  to  devise  some 
plan  by  which  this  might  be  done  without  attracting  too 
much  attention,  or  arousing  suspicion  as  to  his  own  pro- 
ceedings and  intents.  Being  a man  to  whom  money  had, 
until  recently,  appeared  the  chief  good  in  life,  his  proposed 
atonement  and  peace-offering  naturally  took  a pecuniary 
form.  Steve  should  be  given  a fair  start  in  life — a chance 
that,  properly  used,  might  make  him  a rich  man  some 
day. 

“ When  he  gets  out  and  learns  the  truth,^'  he  mused — 

learns  that  Mercy  is  married,  but  Ada,  his  first  love,  is 
still  free,  and  that  I have  bestowed  on  him  the  beginning 
of  a fortune,  he  will  soon  be  consoled,  no  doubt.  Steve 
was  always  a happy,  easy-going  fellow;  hem’ll  thank  me  for 
what  I am  doing  some  day — of  course  he  will!’’ 

He  greatly  astonished  Mrs.  Kaymond,  a few  days  later, 
by  announcing  to  her  that  he  had,  unasked  and  of  his  own 
free  will,  made  really  a liberal  and  handsome  gift  to  Steve 
— ‘‘  enough  to  give  him  a fair  start  in  life,”  he  told  her. 

‘‘  I have  placed  ten  thousand  dollars  in  bank  for  him,” 


184 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


he  said,  at  the  same  time  handing  her  the  necessary  docu- 
ments. “You  take  charge  of  these  till  Steve  returns,  as 
I may  have  to  go  away.  You  see,  the  money  is  in  his 
name,  free  and  clear,  and  subject  to  no  control  but  his. 
You  will  tell  him  that  I did  this  to  place  him  more  on  an 
equality  with  Ada,  his  bride.  You  know,  mother,  I prom- 
ised you  I would  do  something  for  Steve  when  he  married 
Ada.  But  this  I have  done  quite  unconditionally,^^  he 
hastened  to  add,  “ and  1 sincerely  hope  that  he  will  ac- 
knowledge that  Ada  is  a much  more  suitable  match  for 
him  than  Mercy  Craven  could  have  been.  Such  beauty  as 
hers  needs  a costlier  setting  than  Steve  could  have  given 
it,  mother,  and  Mercy  would  not  long  have  been  content 
without  it.'^^ 

Mrs.  Eaymond  was  full  of  pleasure  and  gratitude. 

“ You  are  a good  brother,  indeed!^^  she  cried.  “ Why, 
with  what  I shall  be  able  to  leave  him,  Steve  will  be  quite 
a rich  man  now,  without  naming  Ada^s  fortune.  1 donH 
know  how  we  are  to  thank  you  enough,  dear.  As  for 
Mercy  Craven  — she  broke  off  here  and  passed  into  a 
state  of  wondering — “ what  on  earth  you  see  in  her  so  very 
beautiful,  except  a fine  figure  and  big  black  eyes,  I can’t 
find  out.  But  then  ” — with  sudden  comprehension  dawn- 
ing in  her  kind  eyes — “ but  then  1 may  be  no  judge  of  a 
young  girl’s  beauty,  after  all.  And  do  you  know,  my 
dear  ” — this  half  timidly,  for  she  stood  in  some  awe  of 
this  eldest  son  of  hers,  so  cold  and  hard  he  was — “ do  you 
know,  I have  thought  sometimes  that  you  admired  Mercy 
almost  as  much  as  our  silly  Steve  did,  and  that,  since  you 
are  rich  enough  to  deck  this  beauty  finely,  you  might  even 
choose  to  marry  her  yourself.” 

“‘You  might  even  choose  to  marry  her  yourself!’” 
James  repeated  the  words  with  a strange  accent  of  bitter- 
ness, and  laughed  at  them,  but  not  pleasantly.  To  think 
that  his  mother  should  fancy  that  such  a marriage  was 
me^rely  a thing  for  him  to  choose  to  accomplish!  Tie 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


185 


thought  of  all  that  he  had  suffered  aud  done  to  compass 
this  end  which  Mrs.  Ka\^mond  deemed  so  simple,  and  he 
almost  groaned  aloud  as  he  thought  of  it.  An  effort 
turned  the  groan  into  a laugh,  but  into  one  that  had  so 
little  mirth  in  it  that  the  little  mother  looked  at  him  quite 
anxiously. 

“ I’m  all  right,  mother,”  he  said,  answering  the  look, 
“ and  time  will  show  whether  you  are  a witch  or  not. 
Anyhow,”  he  added,  gravely,  “ no  matter  whom  I marry, 
or  if  I never  marry  at  all,  I have  made  provision  for 
Steve’s  keeping  a wife,  at  all  events.  ” 

And  with  these  words  upon  his  lips  he  left  her.  Strange 
words  they  were,  in  the  light  of  a new  meaning  that  com- 
ing events  were  to  give  them — a meaning  that  was  to  come 
home  to  the  heart  and  brain  of  the  speaker  by  and  by, 
and  leave  him  to  curse  alike  his  own  prophetic  words  and 
'the  generous  deed  they  chronicled. 

Meantime  events  began  to  move.  Mrs.  Eaymond,  who 
had  religiously  abstained  from  visiting  her  daughter  Polly, 
lest  she  should  let  out  to  her  the  secret  of  the  marriage, 
found  it  impossible  to  keep  to  herself  this  news  of  wonder- 
ful pecuniary  good  fortune  for  Steve — especially  as  James, 
in  his  agitation,  had  neglected  to  caution  her  to  keep 
silence.  She  went  to  Polly  without  loss  of  time;  and,  lo! 
in  telling  her  one  piece  of  good  news,  out  slipped  the 
other,  and  Polly  learned,  to  her  delighted  surprise,  that 
Steve  had  married  Ada. 

Less  scrupulous  than  her  mother,  she  mentioned  the 
matter  next  day,  in  a confidential  letter  to  a friend  in  San 
Francisco  who  had  been  Ada’s  school-mate  and  her  own. 

‘‘We  have  had  a romantic  love  affair  in  my  family,” 
she  wrote.  “ Dear  little  Ada  West  has  eloped  with  and 
married  my  twin-brother  Steve,  and  the  two  are  away  to- 
gether now,  enjoying  their  stolen  honey- moon,  no  one 
knows  where.  The  joke  of  the  matter  is  that  there  was 


186 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


no  real  necessity  for  an  eloprnent  at  all,  such  a marriage 
being  the  very  thing  that  all  their  friends  desired  for 
them.^’ 

Now  Ada  happened  to  be  in  San  Francisco,  and  visiting 
at  the  very  house  to  which  this  letter  came.  It  was  placed 
in  her  hands  at  once  with  many  an  exclamation  of  bewil- 
derment and  surprise,  and  she  found  herself  confronted  by 
a mystery. 

A reported  marriage  between  herself  and  Steve!  Ee- 
ported  and  believed  by  his  own  family!  How  could  such 
a thing  be  possible?  Why  did  not  Steve  himself  instantly 
contradict — She  came  to  a sudden  stand-still  in  the 

rapid  and  angry  current  of  her  thoughts,  checked  by  a 
strange  fear.  Polly’s  letter  said,  “They  are  away  to- 
gether— no  one  knows  where.  Away?  Steve  was  away, 
and  his  absence  thus  strangely  and  monstrously  accounted 
for  by  those  who  really  loved  him!  A strange  chill  went 
creeping  all  over  the  girPs  sensitive  frame,  for  she  had 
loved  him,  too.  She  asked  herself,  as  his  other  true  lover, 
the  little  mother,  had  done,  “ Where  is  he?  Something  is 
surely  wrong  with  him!  Where  is  Steve?^^ 

And  to  Ada^^ — rich  and  independent,  generous  and  for- 
giving— to  Ada  that  instinctive  fear  concerning  her  faith- 
less lover^s  safety  was  intolerable,  until  everything  possible 
was  done  to  set  it  at  rest.  If  Steve  was  well  and  safe,  he 
must  be  found,  and  proved  so  for  her  satisfaction.  If  he 
was  in  danger,  as  her  heart  foreboded,  he  must  be  rescued, 
protected,  saved.  That  she  would  save  him  for  another 
woman  made  no  difference  to  this  true  heart.  His  safety, 
his  welfare,  came  first  of  all. 

And  thus  it  came  to  pass  that  she  took  her  friend — the 
recipient  of  Polly^s  letter — and  her  friend’s  husband,  into 
the  secret  of  her  doubts  and  fears,  and  with  her  aunt  was 
(piickly  on  her  way  to  New  York  with  a first-class  detect- 
ive in  her  company.  By  his  advice  they  gave  no  one  any 


HIS  COUKTRY  COUSTK. 


187 


vvtimiiig  of  tlicir  coming,  but,  urriving  fjuictly,  took  up 
their  residence  at  a plain,  private  hotel  under  an  assumed 
name,  and  there  settled  down  to  await  the  results  of  the 
detective^s  preliminary  inquiries. 

They  were  rather  calculated  to  increase  anxiety  than  to 
relieve  it.  Steve  had  been  absent  now  three  weeks,  and  a 
rumor— faint  and  vague  at  first,  but  louder  and  more  posi- 
tive now — a rumor  that  he  had  gone  to  Europe  to  be  mar- 
ried appeared  to  be  generally  accepted  as  the  true  cause  of 
his  absence,  and  considered  entirely  satisfactory.  Mr. 
Hunter,  the  detective,  reported  his  mother  and  family 
quite  at  ease  concerning  him;  and,  as  for  his  once 
affianced  bride — Mercy  Craven — she  was  on  the  eve  of 
marriage  with  his  brother  James. 

“ And  this  marriage  is  the  strangest  part  of  it  all,^^  said 
Mr.  Hunter,  when  he  had  given  Ada  this  startling  news. 
“ The  girl  is  marrying  him  out  of  pique,  1 think,  having 
been  persuaded  that  her  lover  had  forsaken  her.  The 
mother  has  put  about  a different  story,  though.  She  has 
told  the  clergyman  who  is  to  perform  the  ceremony,  that 
her  daughter  was  advised  and  persuaded  into  discarding 
Mr.  Stephen  Eaymond  in  order  to  marry  Mr.  James. 
And  that  young  Stephen  took  the  matter  very  angrily  and 
bitterly,  and  went  away  in  a fit  of  jealous  pique,  and  fol- 
lowing his  old  sweetheart — yourself.  Miss  West — to  Eu- 
rope, married  her.  The  story  is  plausibility  itself.  A hot- 
headed young  man  might  dash  away  in  just  such  fashion 
on  a wild-goose  chase,  and  his  statement  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  marry  you,  coupled  with  the  fact  that  an  engage- 
ment had  actually  existed  between  you,  would  easily  be 
exaggerated  into  a report  that  the  marriage  had  actually 
taken  place.  Upon  my  soul,  it  staggered  me  for  a mo- 
ment! 1 began  to  ask  myself,  ‘ Can  this  be  the  true  solu- 
tion of  the  mystery  after  all?  and  shall  we  presently  hear 
from  the  missing  man  that  he  is  in  Europe  seeking  for 
you,  and,  of  course,  failing  in  his  quest?^^ 


188  HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 

Ada  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

“ May  it  not  indeed  be  so?^^  she  asked  him.  “ Ah, 
no!^^— with  quick  intelligence,  as  she  met  his  eyes — “1 
see  you  have  reasons  for  disbelieving  this  plausible  story; 
have  you  not?^^ 

Mr.  Hunter  nodded  gravely. 

“Two  or  three  reasons, said  he;  “and  I consider 
them  serious  ones.  You  shall  hear  them  and  judge:  In 
the  first  place,  Mr.  Stephen  passed  his  last  night  in  New 
York  at  his  brother's  hotel,  and  left  it  in  his  company 
early  next  morning.  Mr.  Eaymond  claims  that  they  went 
to  Philadelphia,  and  there  parted,  and  that  he  knows  noth- 
ing further  of  his  brother’s  movements;  but  I have  ascer- 
tained, and  shall  be  able  to  prove,  that  this  is  untrue. 
When  the  train  left  Philadelphia  they  were  still  aboard  it, 
and  sitting  side  by  side;  and  their  tickets  were  taken  for 
Gray’s  Mountain,  Miss  Mercy  Craven’s  dwelling-place. 
Yet  no  one  saw  them  arrive  there — no  one  saw  them  there 
— and  Mr.  Eaymond  next  day  returns  alone,  and  denies 
all  knowledge  of  his  brother.  This  looks  bad,  doesn’t  it? 
But  what  will  you  think  when  I inform  you  that,  on  the 
very  evening  of  Stephen’s  disappearance,  his  mother  re- 
ceived a telegram  from  Philadelphia,  and  apparently  sent 
by  you.  Miss  West.” 

“ By  me?”  cried  Ada,  pale  and  startled.  “ Impossible! 
1 was  then  in  Chicago,  en  route  for — ” 

“I  know  that,”  said  Mr.  Hunter,  interrupting  in  his 
turn.  “ But  the  telegram  purports  to  be  sent  by  you, 
and  in  it  you  are  made  to  speak  of  yourself  and  Stephen  as 
her  children,  and  announce  to  her  the  fact  of  your  mar- 
riage.” 

Ada  uttered  an  exclamation  of  dismay  and  horror. 

“It  is  a plot,”  she  cried,  earnestly.  “My  absence, 
just  at  that  time,  has  been  taken  cunning  advantage  of  by 
some  one  whose  interest  was  concerned  in  having  this  tale 
of  Steve’s  marriage  believed;  and  who  was  so  deeply  inter- 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


180 


ested  as  James  himself,  when  he  must  have  immediately 
proposed  to  Mercy?  Ah,  Polly  said  he  had  been  caught 
by  her  fine  eyes!  James’^ — she  started  up  excitedly — 
“ James  is  the  criminal,  Mr.  Hunter;  1 am  sure  of  it!^^ 

“ That^s  my  own  opinion, answered  the  detective, 
quietly;  but  weVe  got  to  prove  it.  It  didn^t  take  long 
to  put  you  on  the  right  track.  Miss  West  — looking  at 
her  with  evident  admiration — “ youh’e  a bit  of  a detective 
yourself,  I think.  Yes;  if  any  one  on  earth  can  tell  us 
what  has  become  of  this  poor  young  fellow,  James  Kay- 
mond  is  the  man!'’^ 

“ You  speak  as  if  you  pitied  him,  and  feared— oh,  worse 
than  I can  bear  to  think  of! — for  him,^^  cried  Ada,  with 
gathering  alarm.  How  could  Mrs.  Eaymond  have  been 
so  deceived?  I wrote  her  a letter,  before  my  departure,  to 
say  good-bye,  which  should  have  been  sufficient  to  prove 
to  her  common  sense  that  the  telegram  must  have  been  a 
forgery.  ^ ^ 

‘‘  She  got  no  such  letter,^^  cried  the  detective,  quickly. 

I know  that  she  went  to  your  house  to  see  you,  in  utter 
ignorance  of  your  departure.  The  letter  has  been  inter- 
cepted, Miss  West,  and  the  whole  affair  grows  blacker  and 
more  serious  in  consequence.  James  Eaymond  has  got  rid 
of  his  rival  and  brother,  and  we  must  discover  how.  It^s 
of  no  use  to  remain  in  New  York;  the  clew  to  the  matter 
is  not  here.  Are  you  willing,  Miss  West,  to  go  with  me  to 
Gray^s  Mountain  immediately? — for,  whether  we  find  him 
living  or  dead,  it  is  there  we  must  look  for  Steve/ ^ 


CHAPTEE  XL. 
free! 

“ Living  or  dead!^’  that  terrible  question  concerning 
Steve  had  long  been  tormenting  others  besides  his  would- 
be  liberators.  His  captors  questioned  each  other  with 


190 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


growing  abirm.  “ Will  he  live?^^  For,  after  the  whole 
villainy  that  had  been  practiced  against  him  had  been  laid 
bare  to  Steve,  and  he  had  realized  what  utter  ruin  threat- 
ened his  dearest  hopes,  and  how  powerless  he  was  to  avert 
it,  a great  despondency  seized  upon  him,  and  threatened 
life  and  reason.  Eoy  Craven  had  assured  him  that  no 
further  harm  than  the  harm  of  his  detention  until  Mercy^s 
wedding-day  was  past  was  intended  him,  but  that  was  in- 
jury enough.  To  lie  there  (for  he  could  not  move  about 
by  reason  of  his  bonds,  and,  moreover,  his  strength  had 
failed  strangely,  and  he  seemed  continually  half  stupefied 
and  heavy  with  sleep)— to  lie  there  helpless,  and  count  the 
days  as  they  went  by,  and  know  that  each  one  brought 
him  nearer  to  the  hour  of  his  ruin  and  the  triumph  of  his 
enemy,  was  to  lie  upon  the  road  to  madness.  Prayers, 
promises,  threats,  he  had  tried  without  eSect.  Eoy  Cra- 
ven met  them  all  with  sullen  silence,  and  James  never 
came  into  his  sight  at  all,  although  once  or  twice  he  had 
heard  his  voice  in  the  outer  room,  and  had  frantically 
cursed  and  called  him.  There  is  little  doubt  that  the  un- 
happy boy  would  have  been  driven  mad  indeed  but  for  the 
continual,  and,  to  him,  unaccountable  drowsiness  which 
so  frequently  overpowered  him  and'  robbed  him — often  for 
hours  together — of  all  knowledge  of  his  wrongs  and 
misery. 

So  the  days  and  weeks  went  on — their  monotony  only 
broken  occasionally  by  a storm  of  anguish  and  passionate 
despair,  in  which  the  helpless  victim  of  this  base  and  cruel 
plot  rebelled  and  struggled  wildly  and  vainly  against  the 
fate  that  hemmed  him  in  and  was  so  remorselessly  closing 
around  him.  At  such  times  his  frantic  cries  might  often 
have  penetrated  to  the  outer  air,  had  there  been  anybody 
nigh  to  hear  them,  and  his  struggles  would  leave  him — 
cut  by  his  tightened  bonds,  and  bruised,  and  faint — to 
pass  from  a state  of  utter  exhaustion  into  that  heavy,  hide- 
ous, unnatural  sleej),  which  he  had  learned  instinctively  to 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


191 


dread,  even  though  it  brought  upon  its  leaden  wings  the 
boon  of  kind  oblivion. 

Awaking  out  of  it  he  would  lie,  sometimes  for  a long 
time,  perfectly  motionless,  lacking  even  sufficient  energy 
to  do  so  much  as  open  his  eyes.  Many  a time  Koy  Craven 
had  stood  by  his  side  with  a refreshing  drink  in  his  hand, 
and  on  his  lips  the  questions:  “ Ain^t  you  awake  yet, 
youngster?  and  ain^t  you  thirsty?^’  And  though  he  was 
thirsty — parched  and  fevered  by  exhaustion  and  excite- 
ment— he  would  make  no  answering  sound  or  movement 
(so  much  he  loathed  his  jailer^s  face  and  voice — so  much 
he  hated  to  awake  and  look  on  life  again)  and  Eoy  Craven 
would  go  away  believing  him  to  be  still  sleeping.  It  hap- 
pened so  one  afternoon,  when — after  one  of  his  fits  of  mad 
despair  and  subsequent  exhaustion  and  slumber— he  re- 
turned to  semi-consciousness  and  became  aware  of  voices 
speaking  softly  just  within  his  prison.  The  speakers  were 
Eoy  Craven  and  James  Eaymond,  and  they  evidently  sup- 
posed their  victim  to  be  still  asleep.  Instinctively,  rather 
than  by  any  distinct  effort  of  the  will,  he  abstained  from 
making  any  sign  or  sound,  but  lay  perfectly  quiet  listen- 
ing. 

‘‘I  couldn^t  manage  him  without  it!’^  he  heard  Eoy 
Craven  exclaim,  evidently  in  reply  to  something  James 
had  said.  ‘‘  If  you  were  to  see  him  in  one  of  his  deviFs 
tantrums,  you’d  know.  He’s  got  to  be  dosed,  or  I 
couldn’t  hold  him.  But  it’s  hurting  him,  of  course.  Not 
that  there’s  any  harm — that  is,  any  murderous  harm — in 
the  stuff  itself  as  1 give  it  to  him,  for  it  only  amounts  to  a 
strong  sleeping  draught,  but  he  has  to  have  it  too  often. 
It  keeps  him  stupid  when  he  isn’t  asleep,  and,  between 
that  and  his  fretting,  he  gets  no  nourishment.  Why,  he 
hasn’t  eaten  enough  to  keep  a baby  alive  ever  since  he 
came,  and  he’s  worn  almost  to  skin  and  bone.  I untied 
his  hands  after  his  fit  of  rage  to-day,  he  looked  so  white 
and  awful.  If  he’s  better  when  he  wakes  I can  tie  ’em 


192 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


again;  bui  if  not^  there’ll  be  no  need.  As  for  his  legs,  if 
he  got  the  bands  off  them,  it’s  my  belief  he  couldn’t  stand 
upon  them,  he’s  so  weak.  That’s  why  you  found  this 
place  all  open,  and  the  window  out  there  open,  too — it’s 
because  he  must  have  air.  I don’t  want  him  to  die  upon 
my  hands,  I can  assure  you — and  he  would  have  died  if  I 
hadn’t  given  him  the  very  best  of  care.  Why,  these  four 
nights  past  I’ve  left  it  open  so  through  the  night,  and  he 
never  the  wiser.  But  if  he  was,  he  couldn’t  get  out — not 
while  the  effect  of  the  dose  is  on  him,  and  that’s  pretty 
much  all  the  time.” 

‘‘  How  do  you  give  it  to  him?”  James  asked,  in  a low, 
smothered  tone. 

Oh,  how  his  victim’s  heart  throbbed — how  his  fingers 
closed  spasmodically  with  instinctive  longing  to  seize  him! 
But  that  would  be  mere  madness.  No;  he  was  learning 
something  now;  let  him  lie  still  and  hear  all  the  villainy, 
and  perhaps  learn  how  to  frustrate  it  even  yet.  His  heart, 
that  had  lain  like  lead  in  his  breast  so  long,  thrilled  sud- 
denly with  a desperate  hope.  These  villains  were  betray- 
ing their  plots  to  him,  and,  being  warned,  he  would  be 
armed  to  defend  himself  against  them.  He  held  his 
breath,  he  controlled  his  nerves,  and  lay  motionless. 

“ 1 may  escape,  and  save  her  yet!”  he  thought.  “ God 
help  me  to  deceive  them  now,  and  outwit  them  after- 
ward!” 

So  the  conversation  went  on  uninterruptedly. 

“It’s  easy  enough  to  give  it  to  him,”  answered  Koy. 
“ It  can’t  be  tasted  in  tea  or  coffee  or  soup,  and  in  all 
these  he  gets  it.  Beer  he  won’t  touch,  ’cause  he  knows  it 
was  that  way  I dosed  him  first.  One  effect  of  the  dose  is 
to  make  you  awful  thirsty.  It  causes  a kind  of  inward 
fever,  so  that  you  drink  and  drink.  Well,  I take  care 
that  he  always  has  drink  beside  him.  When  he’s  got 
enough,  so  as  he’s  quiet  and  manageable,  I leave  water  or 
milk  beside  him;  when  I see  the  signs  of  a fit  coming,  it’s 


HTS  COUNTRY  COUSIN.  * 193 

something  else^  with  the  stuff  in  it.  I donU  give  him  the 
milk  or  water  till  the  doctored  drink  has  gone;  after  that 
he’s  quiet  enough.  The  sleep  seems  to  hold  him  longer 
than  ever  to-day,”  he  added,  glancing  at  his  unhappy 
charge  with  an  air  of  real  anxiety.  ‘‘  Look  at  him!  Your 
wedding  need  be  soon,  indeed,  if  he’s  to  come  out  of  this 
alive!” 

” It  will  be  in  three  days,”  James  answered,  hurriedly, 
“ on  Thursday  afternoon,  and  this  is  Monday  evening. 
On  Saturday  we  shall  sail  for  Europe,  and  on  the  day  after 
you  may  set  him  free.  Our  mother  will  nurse  him  back 
to  health,  and  by  and  by  Ada  will  console  him.  He  will 
find,  too,  that  I have  tried  to  make  him  amends.  Surely 
you  can  manage  him  for  so  short  a time — only  one  week.” 

Eoy  Craven  had  moved  up  to  the  bedside  now.  He 
shook  his  head  gravely. 

‘‘  I’ll  do  my  best,”  he  said.  ‘‘  He’ll  last  out  the  week, 
no  doubt,  and  longer,  but  1 doubt  if  he’ll  ever  get  over  it. 
Look  at  him.  You  needn’t  fear;  there’s  no  sign  of  his 
waking  yet.  Look  at  him.  ” 

Thus  urged,  James  came,  slowly  and  unwillingly,  and 
looked  upon  the  brother  he  had  so  foully  wronged.  He 
turned  away  with  a groan. 

“ I wish  I had  never  seen  your  face!”  he  cried  to  Roy. 
Craven,  almost  passionately.  “ You  tempted  me  to  do 
this!  I wish  1 had  never  seen  your  face!” 

The  other  looked  at  him  contemptuously. 

“ You  better  wish  you’d  never  seen  my  daughter’s 
■face,”  said  he,  dryly.  ‘'You  did  this  thing  for  Mercy’s 
sake,  you  know.  However,  if  you  repent  of  it,  the  thing 
maybe  easily  undone  again;  it  is  not  yet  too  late.  Set 
him  free  now.  Let  Mercy  nurse  him  back  to  health  in- 
stead of — ” 

James  stopped  him  with  an  oath. 

“ Curse  your  mocking  tongue!”  he  said,  savagely. 


194 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


“No!  1 have  gone  too  far  to  turn  back  now!  Besides, 
no  man  but  myself  shall  have  her!^  Come!  Do  the  best 
you  can  for  him,  and  let  me  get  out  of  this  hole — it  stifles 
me!^^ 

They  turned  and  went  away,  and  presently  Steve  heard 
their  voices  as  they  passed  through  the  outer  room  of  the 
cottage  and  away  into  the  woods.  Then  only  did  he  throw 
off  the  seeming  sleep  and  stupor,  and  sit  up  with  sudden 
and  unwonted  energy. 

‘‘I  am  saved!^^  he  muttered  from  his  swelling  heart, 
that  almost  burst  with  its  emotions.  “ I will  not  touch 
his  poison  once  again.  When  he  leaves  it  by  me  I can 
throw  it  away  behind  this  bed,  and  he  will  think  I drank 
it.  1 can  feign  that  horrible  stupor  now,  it  seems,  well 
enough  to  deceive  him.  My  hands  are  free,  indeed  He 
held  them  up  to  Heaven  in  thankfulness.  ‘‘  He  said  he 
would  leave  them  so  it  he  found  me  no  better.  I/ll  make 
him  think  me  dying.  The  window  out  there  open  too! 
Oh,  if  1 could  but  gather  strength  enough  to  reach  it  and 
get  out!  And  who  knows  but  1 may?  Hark!  he^s  com- 
ing back  again.  Now  for  it!^  Now,  Steve,  set  all  your 
wits  to  work  for  Mercy’s  sake!” 

Koy  Craven  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  tie  the  hands 
of  the  poor,  helpless  creature  whom  he  found  on  his  re- 
turn, lying  with  wide-open  eyes  that  had  no  speculation  in 
their  glare.  He  was  rather  alarmed  at  his  victim’s  ex- 
treme passiveness  and  silence.  No  word  or  movement 
could  he  elicit  from  Steve  in  answer  to  his  own  remarks 
and  questions;  indeed,  it  did  not  appear  that  the  sufferer 
even  heard  them.  Eoy  stooped,  and  gently  pushed  back 
the  lids  from  the  staring  eyes  and  examined  the  pupils 
anxiously. 

I’m  afraid  his  brain  is  going,”  he  muttered  to  him- 
self, “ I’m  afraid  of  it.  By  thunder,  I believe  I’ve  over- 
dosed him!” 

lie  went  into  his  own  room  hurriedly,  and  returned 


HTS  roUNTKY  COUSTN'. 


195 


bringing  sorno  wine,  which  he  mixed  with  wiiter  and  [)Iaeed 
to  his  victirn^s  lips. 

“ Here,  Steve — here,  my  boy,  drink  this,^^  he  said, 
almost  gently,  at  the  same  time  lifting  the  young  man’s 
head  upon  his  arm.  “ Come,  it’ll  put  some  life  into 
you.” 

Steve  had  heard  enough  to  be  well  assured  that  no 
treacherous  poison  lurked  in  this  draught,  so  he  drank,  but 
without  apparent  eagerness  or  relish.  Then,  as  Eoy  Cra- 
ven placed  his  head  back  upon  the  pillow:  “Air!”  he 
gasped,  feebly.  “ Oh,  give  me  air,  air!”  In  short,  he 
played  his  part  so  well  during  the  next  twenty-four  hours, 
that  Eoy  Craven  was  effectually  and  seriously  alarmed. 
So  seriously  that  on  the  morning  of  Wednesday — the  day 
before  the  one  appointed  for  Mercy’s  marriage — he  began 
to  contemplate  the  advisability  and  necessity  of  taking  him 
out  of  the  secret  cave  into  the  outer  room  where  his  own 
rough  bed  was  placed,  and  where  at  least  he  might  have 
more  of  the  air  he  seemed  to  be  dying  for.  * 

“ There  can’t  be  any  danger,”  he  reassured  himself,  as 
he  decided  upon  this  extreme  step.  “ He  knows  nothing 
— not  even  me,  now,  and  I must  keep  him  alive  somehow. 
It  would  be  devilish  awkward  to  have  him  die  here.-  I 
don’t  know  how  the  deuce  1 should  dispose  of  the  body.  ” 

With  these  kind  and  comforting  reflections,  he  took  the 
seemingly  helpless  and  almost  unconscious  prisoner  in  his 
powerful  arms,  and  carried  him  into  the  room  where,  a 
month  before,  the  wicked  plot  had  been  laid  and  the  first 
treacherous  dose  had  been  administered. 

Steve’s  heart  beat  so  hard  and  fast  that  he  almost 
thought  his  jailer  must  feel  or  hear  its  strong  pulsations. 

But  Craven  had,  apparently,  no  suspicion  that  he  was 
being  fooled. 

He  laid  his  victim  gently  down  on  his  own  bed,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  administer  wine  to  him. 

During  these  last  twenty -four  hours,  Steve  had  had  a 


196 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


certain  quantity  of  pure  and  nourishing  food^,  and  not  one 
drop  of  the  pernicious  poison. 

This — together  with  the  strong  hope  that  now  cheered 
him — had  already  worked  a change  in  his  condition  which 
it  was  difficult  to  conceal. 

He  felt  that  this  removal  from  the  cave  had  brought 
him  near  to  liberty,  and  that  should  any  possible  chance  of 
escaping  Roy^s  vigilance  offer  itself,  he  should  have 
strength  enough  to  take  advantage  of  it.  Who  could  tell 
but  this  very  night  such  a chance  might  come?  It  must 
come  soon,  he  thought,  to  be  of  any  use,  since  the  mar- 
riage would  be  to-morrow. 

But  it  did  not  come  that  night,  through  which  he  lay, 
feigning  heavy  sleep,  but  really  wakeful  and  despairing. 

All  night  Roy  Craven  sat  in  a chair  by  the  small  fire, 
having  given  up  his  bed  to  Steve,  and  alternately  smoked 
and  drank,  or  dozed  uneasily;  awaking  with  sudden  starts 
and  muttered  curses. 

At  ISiSt,  when  it  must  have  been  after  six  o^ clock,  for 
the  first  gray  light  of  dawn  was  peeping  in  at  the  curtain- 
less window,  the  dawn  of  what  was  to  be  Mercy^s  wedding- 
day,  he  arose,  shook  himself  roughly,  like  a great  dog,  and 
pouring  some  coffee  into  a cup,  dropped  a small  portion 
of  the  sleeping  mixture  into  it,  and  put  it  on  a stand  by 
Stevens  bed,  muttering  as  he  did  so,  that  a man  must 
stretch  his  legs  a little,  and  that  as  the  boy  hadnT  had 
any  for  two  days,  that  little  drop  couldnT  hurt  him  much, 
and  if  he  awoke  while  he — Roy  Craven — was  away,  would 
keep  him  quiet  till  he  came  back  again. 

And  with  that  he  threw  on  his  heavy  coat,  and  left  the 
cottage,  softly  closing  the  door  behind  him,  but  leaving  it 
unlocked. 

This  meant  two  things.  Firstly,  a chance  of  escape  for 
Steve;  secondly,  that  the  chance  must  be  taken  without 
delay,  because  Roy  Craven^s  absence  would  be  but  a brief 
one. 


HTS  COUNTRY  COUF^TN.  107 

Stove  waited  only  long  enough  to  let  his  enemy  get  clear 
away  from  the  cottage^  and  then  crept  from  his  bed — for 
he  could  do  no  more — as  quickly  as  feeble  strength  and 
galling  bands  would  suffer  him. 

His  first  care  was  to  seize  a knife  and  cut  the  strips  of 
deer-hide  from  his  ankles. 

He  was  j>artly  dressed,  Eoy  having  removed  only  his 
outer  clothing,  and  that  he  would  not  stay  to  look  for. 

He  was  so  dreadfully  weak,  and  all  his  limbs  so  cramped 
with  long  confinement  to  his  bed,  that  even  his  strong  ex- 
citement scarcely  enabled  him  to  stand  upright,  and  as  he 
moved  he  staggered  like  a drunken  man,  but  his  wits  did 
not  forsake  him. 

He  poured  the  coffee  out  of  the  cup  on  to  the  fire,  and 
drew  the  heavy  covers  of  the  bed  around  the  pillow  in  such 
fashion  as  to  make  it  appear  that  his  head  still  lay  there. 

This  done,  he  opened  the  door  with  trembling  hands, 
and  closing  it  after  him  went  groping  and  stumbling  blind- 
ly through  the  semi-darkness,  out  into  the  woods.  His 
sight  could  scarcely  penetrate  a yard  before  him — his  limbs 
were  bending  under  him  with  weakness — his  heart’s  wild 
beating  seemed  to  sound  in  his  own  ears,  and  deafen  him 
— cold  and  terror  chilled  him  to  the  bone. 

In  which  direction  to  seek  a human  dwelling  he  knew 
not;  and  if  such  there  were  far  off,  to  reach  it,  in  his  con- 
dition, would  be  impossible.  Yet  he  must  find  friends  and 
intelligent  human  aid  at  once,  or  how  should  he  prevent 
this  marriage? 

She  would  only  need  to  see  him,  he  felt  sure  of  that. 
James  would  be  checkmated  and  frustrated,  if  he,  her  true 
lover,  could  but  reach  the  church  in  time,  even  though  he 
fell  dying  at  her  feet. 

But  should  he  ever  have  strength  to  find  his  way  to  her 
without  aid? 

Would  not  Koy  Craven,  returning  to  the  hut,  miss  him. 


198 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIN. 


and  pursuing  his  slow  and  feeble  steps^  drag  liim  back  to 
captivity  once  more? 

These  terrors  drove  him  almost  mad.  Every  sound 
seemed,  to  his  excited  imagination,  the  footfall  of  his  pur- 
suing foe. 

He  knew  not  where  he  was  going.  For  all  he  could  tell 
he  might  be  traveling  in  a circle  through  the  labyrinth  of 
the  woods,  that  would  presently  bring  him  back  to  his 
prison  and  into  Eoy"s  arms. 

He  stumbled  blindly  on,  growing  weaker  and  more  de- 
spairing with  every  step,  when  all  at  once  a tall  and  pow- 
erful figure  stepped  out  of  the  gloom  in  front  of  him;  a 
hand  was  laid  upon  his  breast — a voice  sounded  in  his 
ears: 

“ See  here!  Who^s  this?  What  ails  you?  Where  are 
you  going?^^ 

But  Steve  never  heard  the  words — grief,  rage,  and  hor- 
ror overpowered  him. 

His  dread  had  taken  tangible  form — here  was  his  enemy, 
come  to  drag  him  back  to  what,  this  time,  would  be  his 
grave! 

With  a howl  of  agony  and  fury,  he  struck  out  blindly, 
feebly  enough,  at  his  supposed  adversary,  and  just  as  he 
felt  two  strong,  warm  hands  closed  firmly  on  his  own — fell 
swooning  on  the  turf  at  his  feet. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE  WEDDING-DAY. 

Bright  and  clear  shone  the  morn  of  Mercy^s  wedding- 
day,  but  the  girl  looked  out  upon  the  brightness  with  eyes 
that  loathed  the  sunlight,  and  her  heart  was  full  and 
heavy  with  curses  on  the  overhaste  and  passionate  resent- 
ment that  had  brought  her  to  this  pass.  If  she  had  only 
waited  so  as  to  marry  any  one  but  James,  to  whom  she  had 
conceived  so  positive  and  strong  an  aversion,  that  even  his 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


109 


infatuation  might  have  shrunk  from  making  her  the  part- 
ner of  his  life  could  he  have  known  of  it.  But  he  did  not. 

Cold  and  barely  civil  as  she  had  been  to  him  at  the  be- 
ginning of  their  engagement,  toward  its  close  she  withdrew 
herself  from  his  company  altogether  whenever  he  vent- 
ured to  call  on  her. 

Jane  Craven  wai  always  ready  with  reasons  and  excuses 
for  this;  but  far  more  potent  with  James  were  the  terrors 
of  his  own  guilty  conscience  as  reasons  for  bearing  with 
her  patiently. 

“It  will  all  be  quite  different  when  once  she  is  your 
wife/^  Jane  assured  him  glibly;  and  he — sighing  over  the 
tortures  of  his  own  unsatisfied  love  for  her,  and  trembling 
in  fear  of  losing  even  the  hope  of  legally  claiming  her  as 
his  own — was  fain  to  suffer  silently,  and  get  what  scraps 
of  cold  comfort  he  could  out  of  her  mother^s  assurances. 

If  his  had  been  merely  a base  and  sensual  jiassion  that 
coveted  only  the  actual  possession  of  her,  caring  nothing 
whatever  for  her  heart — his  satisfaction  in  the  triumph  of 
his  approaching  marriage  would  have  been  much  greater, 
and  the  punishment  and  torture  which  her  icy  coldness  in- 
flicted would  have  been  much  less. 

But  it  was  his  curse  to  love  her  with  areal  affection, 
that  could  never  be  satisfied  with  anything  less  than  real 
affection  in  return.  And  this  there  seemed  no  hope  of 
his  ever  winning. 

True,  he  comforted  himself — and  allowed  Jane  Craven 
to  comfort  him — with  the  belief  that  Mercy  would  love 
him  as  her  husband,  but  in  his  soul  he  knew  that  this  was 
trusting  to  and  leaning  on  a very  frail  and  broken  reed; 
and  he  knew  also  that  should  it  fail  him  the  marriage 
which  he  had  sinned  to  compass  would  bring  no  happiness 
to  his  life,  but  rather  bitterness  and  curses. 

And  yet  he  persisted  and  went  on.  The  assurance  of 
his  bride-elect’s  cold  indifference  and  incipient  dislike 
could  not  deter  him — the  sight  of  his  young  brother’s 


200 


HIS  COUKTRY  COUSIN. 


broken  hearty  ruined  health  and  wreck  of  manhood  could 
not  win  from  him  a moment^s  pause. 

Over  the  ruins  of  their  happiness  he  went  on,  with  piti- 
less tread,  grinding  their  hearts  under  his  iron  heel,  as  he 
marched  on  in  his  selfish  pursuit  of  his  own  desires,  in- 
different to  all  beside  them. 

Not  until  the  day  before  that  appointed  for  the  mar- 
riage did  he  inform  his  mother  of  his  intentions,  and  re- 
quest her  to  be  prepared  to  welcome  his  bride  when  he 
should  bring  her  to  New  York. 

“ It  will  be  but  for  an  hour  before  we  sail,^^  he  said,  “ 1 
shall  take  her  to  Philadelphia  immediately  after  our  mar- 
riage, and  come  to  New  York  on  Friday  evening  late.  If 
you  will  be  on  the  steamer  on  Saturday  morning  to  say 
good-bye,  mother,  it  is  all  I ask.^^ 

And  Mrs.  Eaymond — greatly  surprised  and  strangely 
uneasy,  too — had  consented.  The  little  mother  was  grow- 
ing uneasy  about  Steve. 

A whole  month  gone  and  no  word  from  him — surely 
even  a newly  wedded  bridegroom  might  have  found  time 
to  write  to  her  before  this!  She  confided  her  uneasiness  to 
James. 

“ I donT  know  what  I fear,  my  dear;  but  there  was 
something  queer  about  the  whole  affair,  you  know,^^  she 
said.  “ Why  shouldnT  my  own  son  write  to  me?^’ 

James  concealed  the  torture  which  the  subject  caused 
him,  and  answered  her  anxiety  with  a jest. 

“ Surely  no  harm  could  come  to  Steve  while  Ada  had 
him  in  charge,^^  he  said,  and  never  dreamed  how  near  his 
chance  words  hit  the  truth.  “You  will  be  sure  to  have 
news  of  him  in  a day  or  two.^^ 

His  preparations  and  arrangements  were  all  made,  so 
that  he  could,  if  desirable,  remain  abroad  for  two  years  or 
more  without  injury  to  his  business. 

“ By  that  time  I shall  have  won  my  wife^s  heart,  if 
«ver,^^  he  thought,  “ and  shall  not  fear  to  bring  her  where 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


201 


she  will  meet  Steve;-^  and  then  ho  repeated^  witli  a sigh 
that  was  half  a groan^  those  two  ominous  words — “if 
ever.^^ 

His  bride-elect,  meantime,  thought  of  him  with  bitter 
dislike,  and  loathed  the  thought  of  marrying  him.  Not 
that  she  suspected  his  perfidy — never  for  one  moment. 
She  had  accepted,  with  jealous  credulity,  the  story  of 
Stevens  falsehood,  and  only  pictured  him  to  herself  as  hap- 
py without  her,  and  by  Ada^s  side.  But  she  loved  him 
still;  the  fierceness  of  her  jealousy  and  anger,  the  im- 
patience of  her  longing  to  be  revenged,  were  proofs  of 
this. 

James  was  the  first  and  surest  instrument  of  her  re- 
venge, and  as  such  she  took  him;  but  she  despised  the  in- 
strument she  stooped  to  use,  and  hated  it  because  she  knew 
the  terms  she  took  it  on  would  not  admit  of  its  being 
thrown  aside  as  soon  as  she  should  cease  to  need  its  serv- 
ices. 

“ 1 hate  the  whole  family, she  told  her  mother.  “ I 
might  have  waited  a little  longer  and  have  had  revenge, 
just  the  same,  by  marrying  some  stranger;  but,  with  these 
Eaymonds  for  relatives,  and  living  in  their  midst,  I shall 
loathe  my  life!^^ 

Then  Jane  Craven  set  herself  to  the  task  of  soothing 
her,  just  as  she  often  soothed  James. 

“ The  more  intimately  you  are  related,  the  better  your 
chances  of  punishing  him  will  be,  by  forcing  him  to  con- 
trast you  with  his  wife.  And  James  will  be  your  slave — a 
wife  needs  to  have  her  husband  pretty  well  under  her 
thumb  when  she  uses  him  to  rouse  another  man^s  jeal- 
ousy. If  nothing  will  content  you  but  punishing  Steve,  1 
donT  see  how  you  could  possibly  have  married  better. 

To  do  Mrs.  Craven  justice,  however,  she  only  said  these 
things  to  Mercy  because  she  thought  they  jumped  best 
with  the  girFs  bitter  and  revengeful  mood,  to  cross  which, 
by  opposition,  would  have  been  but  to  inflame  it.  In  her 


202 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


secret  heart  she  did  tridy  believe  that  this  girl;,  whose  life 
had  been  so  hard  and  bare,  would,  after  marriage,  turn 
with  real  kindness  to  the  rich  man  who  adored  her,  and 
who  would  lavish  his  wealth  to  secure  her  pleasure,  and 
buy  a portion  of  her  love.  The  worldly  minded  mother 
said  to  herself,  as  she  often  said  to  James: 

“ It  will  all  come  right,  and  she  will  be  fond  enough  of 
him  when  once  they  are  married. 

And  so,  with  Jane  Craven  in  the  character  of  peace- 
maker, soothing  the  ill-matched  pair,  and  watchful  to  lull 
to  rest  the  elements  of  discord  that  were  ever  threatening 
storms  between  them,  the  month  of  probation  and  prepa- 
ration rolled  swiftly  by,  and  brought  round  the  appointed 
wedding-day. 

Bright  and  cold  and  clear  it  opened.  Jane  Craven  was 
up  betimes,  for  excitement  had  kept  her  waking;  but 
Mercy,  who  had  passed  a wretched  night,  and  only  fell 
asleep  as  morning  dawned — Mercy  slept  late. 

Her  mother  had  looked  in  at  her  door  two  or  three 
times  without  disturbing  her. 

‘‘  There^s  time  enough,  as  the  marriage  is  fixed  for  the 
afternoon,''^  she  thought;  let  her  rest.-^^ 

There  was  policy  as  well  as  kindness  in  this  course,  since 
it  was  not  well  that  Mercy  should  have  too  much  time  for 
regretful  thought,  even  now,  and  the  preparations  for  her 
journey  being  all  completed,  and  the  cares  of  her  wedding- 
toilet  being  very  simple,  there  was  little  enough  to  occupy 
her  between  her  waking  and  the  hour  of  her  marriage. 
“ If  she  would  sleep  until  twelve  o’clock,^^  mused  Jane, 
“ so  much  the  better. 

She  slept  until  ten,  however,  and  awoke  pale  and  trem- 
bling from  the  terror  and  excitement  of  a strange  dream. 
She  had  dreamed  of  Steve — had  seen  him  in  grief  and 
trouble,  lying  helpless  in  a wild,  desolate  place,  drenched, 
as  it  seemed  to  her,  with  his  own  tears,  and  almost  dying. 
He  had  called  to  her,  in  accents  of  anguish  that  pained 


HTS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


203 


her  heart;  to  stop,  to  wait,  to  come  to  him.  But  when 
she  would  have  obeyed  the  summons,  Ada  had  suddenly 
stood  between  them  and  waved  her  back;  so  that  she 
awoke  jealous,  heartsick,  unnerved,  and  trembling.  The 
dream  did  not  make  her  pause,  however,  rather  it  encour- 
aged her  to  carry  out  her  resolution. 

“ So  he  shall  cry  out  for  me,  when  it  is  too  late,^^  she 
thought,  “ and  feel  that  his  own  falsehood  placed  a barrier 
between  us;  and  then,  when  he  realizes  that  Ada  is  that 
barrier,  he  will  curse  her  for  it. 

Jane,  coming  to  her  room,  was  agreeably  surprised  to 
find  her  dressing  as  calmly  and  leisurely,  to  all  outward 
seeming,  as  if  for  the  most  ordinary  visit  to  church. 
Nothing  in  her  costume  gave  any  hint  of  the  real  nature 
of  the  occasion  for  which  it  was  worn,  as  she  had  chosen 
to  be  married  in  the  dress  she  would  afterward  travel  in- 
The  wedding  was  to  be  of  the  quietest  and  most  private 
description — no  cake,  no  cards,  no  breakfast,  no  returning 
home.  The  happy  couple  would  drive  from  the  church  to 
the  depot,  and  depart  for  Philadelphia  without  delay,  the 
hour  for  the  ceremony  having  been  so  timed  as  to  make 
this  proceeding  practicable. 

As  for  James,  he  had  remained  in  town  to  the  last  mo- 
ment possible,  arriving  at  Gray's  Mountain  on  the  early 
morning  train.  Had  he  missed  that,  he  would  still  have 
been  able  to  arrive  at  noon,  by  the  same  train  that  brought 
Steve  to  his  doom  a month  before.  The  wedding  had  been 
arranged  to  take  place  at  two,  so  as  to  meet  this  con- 
tingency, if  necessary.  But  James  had  a superstitious 
horror  of  that  noon  arrival.  An  all-night  journey  seemed 
infinitely  preferable  to  him,  even  though  it  left  him  nerv- 
ous and  fatigued  and  pale  upon  his  marriage  morning. 

Mercy  and  her  mother,  quietly  and  darkly  attired, 
walked  to  the  church,  which  was  at  a short  distance  only. 
So  did  the  pale  bridegroom,  by  a diSerent  and  somewhat 
longer  road.  A carriage  was  ordered  from  the  one  hotel 


204 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


of  Grray^s  Mountain  to  take  them  from  the  church  to  the 
depot,  after  the  ceremony;  but  James  was  too  nervous 
and  excited  to  sit  shut  up  in  it  and  be  driven  to  church, 
preferring  to  get  rid,  if  possible,  of  some  of  his  intense  ex- 
citability by  the  healthy  motion  of  a sharp,  brisk  walk. 
He  was  the  first  of  the  bridal-party  to  arrive,  and  present- 
ly received  and  welcomed  the  beautiful  bride,  who  looked 
as  coldly  handsome  and  unmoved,  and  met  him  as  chill- 
ingly, as  if  she  had  been  a statue  of  marble,  rather  than  a 
woman  of  flesh  and  blood. 

Quietly  ignoring  his  offered  arm,  and  signing  to  her 
mother  to  walk  between  them,  Mercy  entered  the  church 
and  went  resolutely  toward  the  altar,  where  the  clergy- 
man was  already  waiting  to  receive  them. 

There  were  very  few  people  in  the  church,  the  affair 
having  been  kept  as  quiet  as  possible,  and  the  actual  date 
of  the  marriage  confided  to  none.  One  or  two  casual 
passers-by,  seeing  the  sacred  edifice  open  at  an  unusual 
time,  had  looked  in  to  see  what  was  going  on,  and  now 
loitered  idly  for  the  ceremony.  Among  these  Mercy 
classed  a lady  heavily  veiled,  who  watched  the  bridal-party 
from  the  shelter  of  a pillar,  behind  which  she  seemed  to 
shrink  as  the  bride’s  dark  eyes  turned  that  way.  But  the 
dark  eyes  little  heeded  what  they  saw,  being  heavy  and 
dull  with  anguish,  and  Mercy’s  thought — “ Some  stranger 
visiting  here” — passed  in  and  out  of  her  troubled  mind 
almost  unconsciously. 

Next  minute  she  was  placed  before  the  altar-rails — 
James  had  taken  her  cold  hand  within  his  own.  Her  sight 
grew  dim,  for  all  her  self-control,  and  she  seemed  to  hear 
a voice,  coming  from  a long  distance,  low  and  faint,  ask- 
ing her  whether  she  would  take  the  man  beside  her  for  her 
husband,  and  be  to  him  a true  and  loving  wife. 

“ A true  and  loving  wife!”  Those  words  struck  louder 
on  her  heart  than  on  her  ears,  and  filled  her  with  a sudden 
consternation.  For  the  first  time  since  her  solemn  engage- 


Tirs  COUNTRY  (JOi:SIN. 


205 


\nieut  liiid  been  so  hastily  made,  she  seemed  to  realize  how 
Solemn  a thing  marriage  was,  and  how  opposite  to  its  true 
purpose  were  the  motives  and  the  spirit  in  which  she  was 
undertaking  it — to  be  t ) him,  to  the  man  beside  her,  while 
her  heart  was  full  of  love  for  another,  ‘‘  a true  and  loving 
wife  till  death  doth  them  part/^  How  could  she?  How 
was  it  possible?  Did  she  not  already  despise,  and  should 
she  not  presently  hate  him? 

These  thoughts  and  questions  passed  swifter  than  light- 
ning through  her  brain,  and  instead,  of  answering,  she 
suddenly  turned  and  looked  into  James  Eaymond^s  face, 
her  own  turning  ghastly,  deathly  pale,  while  she  shud- 
dered violently  and  visibly.  Then,  glancing  wildly  around 
her,  and  quite  losing  self-control: 

“ Wait,  wait!  give  me  time!  let  me  think!^^  she  gasped. 
“ Oh,  wait!^^ 

Jane  Craven  sprung  forward  instantly,  and  laying  a 
firm  hand  on  her  shoulder,  tried  to  recall  her  to  herself. 

“What  ails  you?  are  you  mad?’^  she  cried,  in  sup- 
pressed tones  of  anger,  while  the  clergyman  paused,  in 
shocked  surprise,  and  James  Raymond,  white  and  trem- 
bling like  herself,  stared  helplessly. 

“Go  on,  I tell  you!^^  continued  the  mother,  fiercely. 
“Make  the  responses!  Don^t  stand  staring  like  a fool! 
Answer  ‘ 1 will.  ’ Do  you  hear  me,  Mercy?^^  and  she 
shook  the  pale,  bewildered  girl  with  uncontrollable  anger. 
“ Answer  him!^^ 

But  at  that  instant  another  voice — a woman^s,  soft  and 
clear— rang  through  the  church: 

“No;  let  her  answer  me,  first !^^ 

Mercy  turned,  with  a shriek,  to  the  sound.  The  lady 
whom  she  had  noticed  near  the  pillar  had  left  her  place, 
and  came  hurrying  toward  her.  She  threw  back  her  veil 
as  she  confronted  the  startled  bride,  and  lo!  it  was  Ada 
West! 

“ Let  her  answer  me  before  another  word  is  said!^’  she 


206 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


cried,  excitedly.  ‘‘Mercy  Craven,  what  have  you  done 
with  the  man  whom  1 once  loved — with  the  lover  you 
stole  away  from  me?  Before  you  speak  the  words  that 
make  you  James  .Raymond ^s  wife,  answer  me,  and  truly, 
before  Heaven,  what  has  become  of  Steve?’^ 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

At  sight  of  her  rival,  the  trembling  bride  ceased  trem- 
bling, and  suddenly  appeared  to  turn  hard  and  stern  and 
cold.  She  pushed  her  mother  away  and  confronted  Ada 
proudly.  Jealous  hatred  shone  in  her  dark  eyes. 

“ Do  you  ask  that  of  me?’^  she  cried,  in  tones  that  had 
something  of  triumph  in  their  scorn.  “ You,  for  whom 
he  abandoned  me!  Am  I your  husband^s  keeper,  ma- 
dame?’^  Then  she  laughed  with  bitter  insolence.  “ And 
could  you  not  hold  him  longer  than  this,  with  all  your 
wealth  that  bought  him?^^  she  asked,  mockingly.  “ Has 
he  tired  of  his  bargain  so  soon?  Only  the  bride  of  a 
month,  and  forsaken!  Why,  my  poor  love  could  have 
held  him  longer  than  that,  I think.  Poor  Ada!^^ 

Her  tone,  her  look,  and  manner  might  have  provoked  a 
saint,  but  Ada  showed  no  anger. 

Fixing  her  soft  blue  eyes  on  Mercy^s  face,  she  had 
watched  her  closely,  and  she  saw  at  once  that  all  this  bit- 
ter insolence  was  real,  and  arose  from  real  pain — the  in- 
tolerable pain  of  jealousy. 

“ Poor  Mercy,  rather, she  said,  sadly,  when  the  bride 
had  paused.  “ .Poor  dupe  of  a wicked  plot  and  a lying 
story.  Steve  is  no  husband  of  mine.  I am  not  married. 
Steve  and  I parted  in  your  presence,  weeks  ago,  and  from 
that  day  till  this  I have  never  seen  him!  What  has  be- 
come of  him  answer  you— to  whom  he  trusted  his  heart 
and  hopes,  and  for  whom  he  would  have  given  his  life! 
His  love  for  me  was  but  as  a brother’s,  but  to  you  was 
given  his  whole  heart;  yet  surely  1 have  loved  him  best. 


TTIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


207 


ioi-  when  1 lieiml  Unit  he  was  false  to  yon  and  had  gone  to 
Hurope  for  my  sake,  1 knew  at  once  that  the  tale  was 
false,  and  felt  that  some  danger  threatened  him.  Where 
was  your  love  that  it  could  not  see  as  clearly?  This  man 
— she  turned  with  sudden  fierceness  upon  James,  who, 
white  as  death  and  seemingly  stunned,  had  heard  her  with- 
out interruption — “ this  criminal  loved  you,  too,  and 
was  his  brother's  secret  rival,  while — simple,  credulous 
dupes,  as  you  were,  both  of  you  trusted  him.  And  he  has 
betrayed  you!  In  his  company  Steve  left  New  York  and 
came  to  this  place  a month  ago,  since  when  he  has  not 
been  seen.  And  now— as  1 see  that  you  have  been  foolish 
rather  than  false,  and  can  give  me  no  account  of  your  lost 
lover — let  James  Eaymond  answer  me  the  question,  which 
otherwise  he  shall  answer  to  the  law — where  is  Steve?^^ 

But  James  Eaymond  could  not  answer  her.  The  shock 
of  this  disclosure — the  frustation  of  all  his  hopes  and  plans 
— the  certain  loss  of  the  woman  he  had  so  madly  loved, 
and  the  thought  of  the  exposure  and  disgrace  that  must 
follow  this  failure  of  his  wicked  schemes — all  these  agita- 
tions were  too  much  for  him.  He  strove  to  speak — to 
move— to  go  away — but  tongue  and  limbs  were  alike  pow- 
erless. Shame,  rage,  despair,  overpowered  him. 

He  trembled  like  one  in  an  ague  fit,  and  his  eyes  roved 
wildly  around  him  as  if  seeking  some  escape — then,  with  a 
groan  so  deep  that  it  seemed  to  rend  his  very  being  and  let 
his  life  out,  he  fell  senseless  in  their  midst. 

At  the  same  instant,  and  while  ready  hands  were  raising 
him  and  carrying  him  away,  all  eyes  turned  suddenly  on 
her  who  should  have  been  his  bride — now — after  standing 
silent  and  motionless,  as  if  Ada^s  communication  had 
stricken  her  into  stone — she  seemed  suddenly  to  arouse 
herself  to  a consciousness  of  her  own  and  her  young  lover^s 
wrongs  and  misery;  and,  giving  away  to  a paroxysm  of  de- 
spairing grief,  began  to  lament  aloud  for  him. 

“ Steve!  Steve!’^  she  cried.  “ Oh,  Steve,  my  love. 


208 


HIS  COUNTKY  COUSIN. 


where  are  you?  Oh,  what  a credulous,  jealous  fool  1 have 
been!  I loved  him!  1 loved  him!  and  my  love  has  been 
his  ruin;  it  is  I who  have  murdered  him — 1 — not  James — 
my  jealous  credulity  has  killed  him!  But  I will  not  sur- 
vive him!^^  her  eyes  grew  wild  as  she  glanced  around  her. 
“ There  are  ways  and  means  to  die!  Let  me  go!’^  she 
struck  her  mother’s  arms  aside,  and  tried  to  spring  away. 
“ Let  me  go!” 

But  Ada  held  her;  Ada  spoke  to  her,  and  she  yielded  to 
her  rival’s  voice  and  touch. 

It  was  strange  to  see  these  two  women,  lately  such  bit- 
ter foes,  now  clasped  and  weeping  in  each  other’s  arms. 

“ He  is  not  dead — Steve  is  not  dead,  thank  God!”  these 
were  the  welcome  words  with  which  Ada  soothed  and 
calmed  her.  “ He  is  safe,  though  very,  very  ill;  and  with 
you  to  nurse  him  he  will,  please  Heaven,  recover.  Calm 
yourself,  Mercy,  that  you  may  be  fit  to  go  to  him.  Think, 
dear — for  you  and  1 are  enemies  and  rivals  no  longer,  but 
sisters  from^  this  hour — think  of  what  I say.  Steve  is  safe, 
but  he  has  suffered  much,  and  is  very  sick,  and  you  alone 
can  cure  and  comfort  him.  There!  That’s  right!  You 
are  calmer  now.  We  will  go  to  him  together!” 

And  so  they  did;  and  together— assisted  by  his  mother, 
who  had  been  telegraphed  for — nursed  him  through  the 
long  and  dangerous  illness  that  ensued.  So  ill  he  was  for 
many  weeks,  that  jealousy  and  rivalry,  if  they  had  not 
been  dead  already,  would  have  died  in  the  presence  of  his 
peril  and  pain.  For  a long  time  it  was  not  a question  of 
who  he  should  live  for,  but  whether  he  wajild  live  at  all. 

And  not  until  that  dreadful  doubt  was  set  at  rest  did 
they  learn  the  whole  story  of  his  captivity  and  escape. 
All  they  knew  was  that  the  detective,  Mr.  Hunter,  who 
had  traced  him  to  Gray’s  Mountain,  and,  grown  hopeless 
of  finding  him  alive,  was  night  and  day  employed  in 
searching  for  traces  of  a murder  in  the  woods,  had  sud- 
denly come  upon  him  in  the  early  dawn,  wandering  blind- 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


209 


ly  among  tlic  trees,  and  had  literally  carried  him,  a helj)- 
l(^s  and  insensible  burden,  to  this  quiet  cottage  where  Ada 
hald  lodged  for  days.  On  recovering  consciousness,  he 
could  do  nothing  but  implore  them  to  stop  Mercy^s  mar- 
riage by  denouncing  James,  which  Ada,  leaving  Hunter  to 
procure  medical  aid,  had  proceeded  to  do  accordingly. 

No  sooner  was  this  great  anxiety  removed  from  his  mind 
by  the  sight  of  Mercy,  actually  restored  to  him,  and  there 
at  his  bedside,  than  his  nervous  system  succumbed  before 
the  horrible  strain  that  it  had  endured  so  long,  and  fever 
and  delirium  followed.  In  this  condition,  no  clew  to  his 
late  captors,  no  hint  as  to  the  place  of  his  detention  could 
be  obtained  from  him,  and  Roy  Craven  took  quick  ad- 
vantage of  the  chance  thus  given  him  to  escape;  which  he 
did  so  effectually  that  no  trace  of  him  was  ever  found,  nor 
did  Steve  or  Mercy  ever  again  hear  of  him. 

As  for  James,  he  had  been  taken,  in  the  carriage  in 
which  he  had  hoped  to  bear  a bride  awa}q  to  the  hotel,  and 
a doctor  sent  for.  It  was  a long  time  before  he  recovered 
consciousness,  and  when  he  did  so  he  was  extremely  ill, 
and  appeared  likely  to  continue  so.  Great  was  the  aston- 
ishment of  the  doctor,  when  he  called  next  day,  to  find 
that  his  patient  had  disappeared.  He  left  a note  for  his 
mother — a few  brief,  cold  lines  that  gave  no  clew  to  his 
real  intentions. 

I am -going  home,^^  he  wrote.  “ I have  played  a bold 
game— tell  Stephen,  when  he  recovers — and  have  lost  it. 
He  and  I will  settle  by  and  by.  You  will  find  me  in  New 
York  when  you  rbturn.^^ 

But  they  did  not  find  him.  Six  weeks  later,  when  they 
did  return,  they  found,  on  the  contrary,  that  he  had 
quietly  and  piivately  settled  his  affairs,  and  apparently 
left  the  country.  His  business  had  been  disposed  of  by 
private  contract,  and  had  passed  into  other  hands,  and 

the  place  thereof  knew  him  no  more."^^ 


210 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN. 


JMo  one  was  grieved,  unless  it  was  the  little  mother, 
lie  was  her  son,  though  little  enough  like  one.  But  even 
she  could  not  but  acknowledge  that  his  departure  was  the 
best  possible  course,  under  all  the  circumstances;  and  the 
recovery  of  her  youngest  and  favorite  son,  and  the  sight  of 
his  happiness,  soon  consoled  her. 

For  Steve  at  last  was  truly  happy.  Out  of  evil  oft 
cometh  good;’^  and  a brother's  wickedness,  which  for  a 
time  had  strewed  his  path  with  thorns,  had  also,  indirect- 
ly, cleared  it  of  some  substantial  difficulties.  The  money 
which  James  had  lavished  upon  Mercy,  as  well  as  that 
which  he  had  bestowed  on  Steve,  served  the  young  couple 
for  a marriage  portion  on  which  it  was  possible  to  make  a 
fair  start  in  life,  without  the  fear  of  Mrs.  Craven^s  pelf 
horror — poverty. 

And  married  they  were  as  soon  as  Stevens  recovery  made 
it  possible,  Jane  Craven,  shocked  at  the  discovery  of 
Jameses  real  character,  offering  no  further  opposition  to 
her  daughter's  wishes;  and  the  little  mother,  quite  won  by 
the  girFs  devotion  during  Stevens  illness,  withdrawing  all 
her  previous  objections  and  taking  her  new  daughter 
cordially  to  her  heart. 

So  these  two  lovers,  who  “between  two  loves had 
suffered  so  much,  found  happiness  at  last  in  the  one  and 
only  true  love.  No  cloud  marred  the  brightness  of  their 
wedding-day,  not  even  the  thought  that  what  was  all  joy 
to  them  might  cause  a pang  to  Ada.  For  Ada’s  interest 
had  been  so  deeply  aroused  by  the  detective  business  in 
which  she  had  recently  been  engaged,  that  her  former 
lover  evidently  occupied  less  of  her  thoughts  than  did  the 
clever,  handsome  detective  whose  skill  and  acuteness  had 
saved  him. 

Ada  was  Mercy’s  bride-maid  on  the  happy  day,  and  it 
was  Mr.  Hunter  who  gave  away  the  bride;  and  it  did  not 
require  superhuman  intelligence  to  hazard  a guess  that  a 
day  might  come  when  the  handsome  pair  might  go  to 


HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN, 


211 


\ 


cliui’ch  together  again  for  a more  serious  jmrpose,  on 
which  occasion  the  detective  would  receive  a bride,  instead 
of  giving  away  one.  All  happiness  to  Ada,  if  it  should 
prove  so;  so  prayed  the  blushing  bride  as  she  kissed  her 
good-bye. 

“ It  is  to  you  we  owe  our  joy,^^  she  whispered.  “ Dear, 
gentle,  generous  Ada!  May  God  reward  you  with  a truer 
love  than  that  you  lost!  And  in  that  new  and  true  love 
may  you  forget  all  you  have  ever  suffered  for  Mercy^s 
sake!'^ 


THE  END, 


- - /• 

• ..  ' .^.•rA.CTrJ 

and  worse 
without  it. 


results. 


“Get  Wisdom," 
When  yougetthat  you 
will  get  Pearline.  A 
million  wise  women 
have  got  it  already. 
With  it,  they  have  clean 
clothes  that  are  not  worn 
out  with  rubbing  or  in- 
jured by  chemicals,  and 
everything  in  the  house 
is  spotless.  Without  it, 
they  have  harder  work 
But  they’ll  never  be 
Millions  use  Pearline. 


TJ  of  imitations  which  are  being  peddled  from  door 

to  door.  First  quality  goods  do  not  require  such 
desperate  methods  to  sell  them.  PEARLINE  sells 
on  its  merits,  and  is  manufactured  only  by 

200  JAMES  PYLE,  New  York. 

W.  L.  DOUGUS  $3  SHOE  FOR  GENTLEMEN. 

■’OK  FOR 

68ITUI8I.  M X LADIES, 

$s.oo 

Best  Dongola. 

Extra  Value 
for  the  price, 

$1.75 

For  MISSES. 

For  Boys  and 
Youtlis, 

& $1.75 

SCHOOL 

f SHOES. 

VV.  Ti.  Douglas  Shoes  for  (iJentleiiieii  are  made  in  Congress,  Button  and 
Lace,  sized  5 to  11,  including  half  sizes  and  widths,  and  all  styles  of  toe.  Boys 
sized  1 to  5 1-2,  and  youth’s  11  to  13  1-2.  also  half  sizes  in  each.  , , ^ -r^ 

VV.  Ij,  Douglas  $3  Shoe  for  liadies.  Sizes  1 to  7,  and  half  sizes;  B,  C.  D, 

’ Shoe  for  Toadies.  Sizes  1 to  7,  including  half  sizes;  C,  D,  E,  and  EE  widths. 
W.  li.  Douglas  SI  .’^5  Shoe  for  Misses.  11  to  2 and  half  sizes,  regular  and 
sprmphe 

Douglas’s  name  and  the  price  are  .stamped  on  bottom  of  all  shoes,  and 
every  pair  are  wari’anted.  Send  name  and  address  on  postal  card  for  valu- 
■ible  information.  W.  E.  DOIKtJI.*  A S,  Drockton»  Mass. 


$5.00 

Genuine  Hand- 
Sewed. 
$4.00 
Hand-Sewed 
Welt  Shoe. 
$3.50 
Police  and 

Farmer. 
$3.50 
Extra  Value 

Calf  Shoe. 
$3.35 
Workingman’s 
Shoe. 
$3.00 
Goodwear  Shoe. 


Iftttsdie  pbiatg. 


Nachfolgende  Werke  sind  in  der 

1 Der  Kaiser  von  Prof.  G.  Ebers  20 

2 Die  Somosierra  von  R.  Wald- 

miiller 10 

3 Das  Geheimniss  der  alten  Mam- 

sell.  Roman  von  E.  Marlitt.  10 

4 Quisisana  von  Fr.  Spielhagen  10 

5 Gartenlauben-Bliithen  von  E. 

Werner 20 

6 Die  Hand  der  Nemesis  von  E. 

A.Konig: 20 

T Amtmann’s  Magd  v.  E.  Marlitt  20 

8 Vineta  von  E.  Werner 20 

9 Auf  der  Riimmingsburg  von  M. 

Widdern 10 

10  Das  Haus  Hillel  von  Max  Ring  20 

11  Gliickauf!  von  E.  Werner 10 

12  Goldelse  von  E.  Marlitt 20 

13  Vater  und  Sohn  von  F.  Lewald  10 

14  Die  Wiirger  von  Paris  von  C. 

Vacano 20 

15  Der  Diamantschleifer  von  Ro- 

senthal-Bonin 10 

16  Ingo  und  Ingraban  von  Gustav 

Freytag 20 

17  Eine  Frage  von  Georg  Ebers. . 10 

18  Im  Paradiese  von  Paul  Heyse  20 

19  In  beiden  Hemispharen  von 

Sutro 10 

20  Gelebt  und  gelitten  von  H.  Wa- 

chenbusen 20 

21  Die  Eichhofs  von  M.  von  Rei- 

chenbach 10 

22  Kinder  der  Welt  von  P.  Heyse. 

Erste  HHilfte 20 

22  Kinder  der  Welt  von  P.  Heyse. 

ZweiteHalfte 20 

23  Barfiissele  von  Berthold  Auer- 

bach  10 

24  Das  Nest  der  Zaunkonige  von 

G.  Freytag 20 

25  Fruhlingsboten  von  E.  Werner  10 

26  Zelle  No.  7 von  Pierre  Zacone  20 

27  Die  junge  Frau  v.  H.  Wachen- 

husen 20 

28  Buchenheim  von  Th.  v.  Varn- 

biiler 10 

29  Auf  der  Bahn  des  Verbrechens 

V.  Ewald  A.  Kdnig 20 

30  Brigitta  von  Berth.  Auerbach . . 10 

31  Im  Schillingshof  v.  E.  Marlitt  20 

32  Gesprengte  Fesseln  v.  E.  Wer- 

ner..  10 

33  Der  Heiduck  von  Hans  Wa- 

chenhusen 20 

34  Die  Sturmhexe  von  Grafin  M. 

Keyserling 10 

35  Das  kind  Bajazzo’s  von  E.  A. 

Kdnig 20 

36  Die  Briider  vom  deutschen 

Hause  von  Gustav  Freytag. . 20 

37  Der  Wilddieb  v.  F.  Gerstftcker  10 

38  Die  Verlobte  von  Rob.  Wald- 

mttller 20 

89  Der  DoppelgSnger  von  L. 

Schiickmg 10 


,, Deutschen  Library “ erschienen, 


<i0  Die  weisse  Frau  von  Greifen- 
stein  von  E.  Fels 20 

41  Hans  und  Grete  von  Fr.  Spiel- 

hagen 10 

42  Mein  Onkel  Don  Juan  von  H. 

Hopfen 20 

43  Markus  Konig  v.  Gustav  Frey- 

tag  20 

44  Die  schdnen  Amerikanerinnen 

von  Fr.  Spielhagen 10 

45  Das  grosse  Loos  v.  A.  Kdnig. . 20 

46  Zur  Ehre  Gottes  von  Sacher 

und  Ultimo  v.  F.  Spielhagen  10 

47  Die  Geschwister  von  Gustav 

Freytag 20 

48  Bischof  und  Kdnig  von  Mariam 

Tenger  und  Der  Piratenkd- 
nig  von  M.  Jokai 10 

49  Reichsgrafin  Gisela  v.  Marlitt  20 

50  BewegteZeiten  v.Leon  Alexan- 

drowitsch 10 

51  Um  Ehre  und  Leben  von  E.  A. 

Kdnig 20 

52  Aus  einer  kleinen  Stadt  v.  Gu- 

stav Frey  tag 20 

53  Hildegard  von  Ernst  v.Waldow  10 

54  Dame  Orange  von  Hans  Wa- 

chenhusen 20 

55  Johannisnacht  von  M.  Schmidt  10 

56  Angela  von  Fr.  Spielhagen ...  20 

57  Falsche  Wege  von  J.  v.  Brun- 

Barnow 10 

58  Versunkene  Welten  von  Wilh. 

Jensen 20 

59  Die  Wohnungssucher  von  A. 

von  Winterfeld 10 

60  Eine  Million  von  E.  A.  Kdnig  20 

61  Das  Skelet  von  F.  Spielhagen 

und  Das  Frdlenhaus  von  Gu- 
stav zu  Putlitz 10 

62  Soli  und  Haben  v.  G.  Freytag. 

Erste  Halfte 20 

62  Soil  und  Haben  v.  G.  Freytag. 

Zweite  Halfte 20 

63  Schloss  Grunwald  von  Char- 

lotte Fielt 10 

64  Zwei  Kreuzherren  von  Lucian 

Herbert 20 

65  Die  Erlebnisse  einer  Schutzlo- 

sen  V.  Kath.  Sutro-Schiicking  10 

66  Das  Haideprinzesschen  von  E. 

Marlitt 20 

67  Die  Geyer-Wally  von  Wilh.  von 

Hillern 10 

68  Idealisten  von  A.  Reinow 20 

69  Am  Altar  von  E.  Werner 10 

70  Der  Kdnig  der  Luft  von  A.  v. 

Winterfeld 20 

71  Moschko  von  Parma  v.  Karl  E. 

Franzos 10 

72  Schuld  und  Siihne  von  Ewald 

A.  Kdnig 20 

73  In  Reih’  und  Glied  v.  F.  Spiel- 

Erste  Halfte 20 


2 


DIE  DEUTSCHE  LIBRARY. 


73  In  Reih’  und  Glied  v.  F.  Spiel- 

hagen.  ZweiteHalfte 20 

74  Geheimnisse  einer  kleinen 

Stadt  von  A.  von  Winterfeld  10 

75  Das  Landhaus  am  Rhein  von 

B.  Auerbach.  Erste  Halfte..  20 

75  Das  Landhaus  am  Rhein  von 

B.  Auerbach.  Zweite  Halfte  20 

76  Clara  Vere  von  Friedrich  Spiel- 


hagen 10 

77  Die  Frau  Burgermeisterin  von 

G.  Ebers 20 

78  Aus  eigener  Kraft  von  Wilh. 

V.  Hillern 20 

79  Ein  Kampf  urn’s  Recht  von  K. 

Franzos 20 

80  Prinzessin  Schnee  von  Marie 

Widdern 10 

81  Die  zweite  Frau  von  E.  Marlitt  20 

82  Benvenuto  von  Fanny  Lewald  10 

83  Pessimisten  von  F.  von  Stengel  20 

84  Die  Hofdame  der  Erzherzogin 

von  F.  von  Witzleben-Wen- 
delstein ....  10 

85  Ein  Vierteljahrhundert  von  B. 

Young 20 

86  Thiiringer  Erzahlungen  von  E. 

Marlitt 10 

87  Der  Erbe  von  Mortella  von  A. 

Dom 20 

88  Vom  armen  egyptischen  Mann 

V.  Hans  Wachenhusen 10 

89  Der  goldene  Schatz  aus  dem 

dreissigjahrigen  Krieg  v.  E. 

A.  Konig 20 

90  Das  Fraulein  von  St.  Ama- 

ranthe  von  R.  von  Gottschall  10 

91  Der  Fiirst  von  Montenegro  v. 

A.  Winterfeld 20 

92  Um  ein  Herz  von  E.  Falk 10 

93  Uarda  von  Georg  Ebers 20 

94  In  der  zwolften  Stunde  von 

Fried.  Spielhagen  und  Ebbe 
und  Fluth  von  M.  Widdern...  10 

95  Die  von  Hohenstein  von  Fr. 

Spielhagen.  Erste  Halfte.  . 20 

95  Die  von  Hohenstein  von  Fr. 

Spielhagen.  Zweite  Halfte. . 20 

96  Deutsch  und  Slavisch  v.  Lucian 

Herbert 10 

97  Im  Hause  des  Commerzien- 

Raths  von  Marlitt 20 

98  Helene  von  H.  Wachenhusen 

und  Die  Prinzessin  von  Por- 
tugal V.  A.  Meissner 10 

99  Aspasia  von  Robert  Hammer- 

on 


100  Ekkehard  v.  Victor  v.  Scheffel  20 

101  Ein  Kampf  um  Rom  v.  F.Dahn. 

Erste  Halfte 20 

101  Ein  Kampf  urn  Rom  v.F.Dahn. 

Zweite  Halfte 20 

102  Spinoza  von  Berth.  Auerbach . 20 

103  Von  der  Erde  zum  Mond  von 

J.  Verne 10 

104  Der  Todesgruss  der  Legionen 

von  G.  Samarow 20 

105  Reise  um  den  Mond  von  Julius 

Verne • • • • 10 


Fiirst  und  Musiker  von  Max 

Ring 20 

Nena  Sahib  v.  J.  Retcliffe.  Er- 

ster  Band 20 

Nena  Sahib  von  J.  Retcliffe. 

Zweiter  Band 20 

Nena  Sahib  von  J.  Retcliffe. 

DritterBand 20 

Reise  nach  dem  Mittelpunkte 
der  Erde  von  Julius  Verne  10 
Die  silberne  Hochzeit  von  S. 

Kohn 10 

Das  Spukehaus  von  A.  v.  Win- 
terfeld  20 

Die  Erben  des  Wahnsinns  von 

T.  Marx 10 

Der  Ulan  von  Joh.  van  Dewall  10 
Um  liohen  Preis  v.  E.  Werner  20 
Schwarzwalder  Dorfgeschich- 
ten  von  B.  Auerbach.  Erste 

Halfte 20 

Schwarzwalder  Dorfgeschich- 
ten  V.  B.  Auerbach.  Zweite 

Halfte 20 

Reise  um  die  Erde  von  Julius 

Verne 10 

Casars  Ende  von  S.  J.  R. 

(Schluss  von  104) 20 

Auf  Capri  von  Carl  Detlef 10 

Severa  von  E.  Hartner 20 

Ein  Arzt  der  Seel®  von  Wilh. 

V.  Hillern 20 

Die  Livergnas  von  Hermann 

Willfried 10 

Zwanzigtausend  Meilen  un- 
term Meer  von  J.  Verne 20 

Mutter  und  Sohn  von  August 

Godin 10 

Das  Haus  des  Fabrikanten  v. 

Samarow 20 

Bruderpflicht  und  Liebe  von 

Schiicking 10 

Die  Romerfahrt  der  Epigonen 
V.  G.  Samarow.  Erste  Halfte  20 
Die  Romerfahrt  der  Epigonen 
V.  G.  Samarow.  ZweiteHalfte  20 
Porkeles  und  Porkelessa  von 

J Scherr 10 

Ein  Friedensstdrer  von  Victor 
Bliithgen  und  Der  heimliche 

Gast  von  R.  Byr 20 

Schdne  Frauen  v.  R.  Edmund 

Hahn 10 

Bakchen  und  Thyrsostrager 

von  A.  Niemann 20 

Getrennt.  Roman  von  E.Polko  10 
Alte  Ketten.  Roman  von  L. 

Schiicking 20 

Ueber  die  Wolken  v.  Wilhelm 

Jensen 10 

Das  Gold  des  Orion  von  H. 

Rosenthal-Bonin 10 

Um  den  Halbmond  von  Sama- 
row. Erste  HSilfte 20 

Um  den  Halbmond  von  Sama- 
row. Zweite  Halfte 20 

Troubadour  - No vellen  von  P. 
Heyse 10 


106 

107 

lOI 

107 

108 

109 

110 

111 

112 

113. 

114 

114 

115 

116 

117 

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120 

121 

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124 

125 

125 

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127 

128 

129 

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133 

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134 

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DIE  DEUTSCHE  LIBHARY. 


8 


KJO  Der  Schweden-Scliatz  von  H. 

Wachenhusen 

\37  Die  Bettlerin  voni  Pont  des 
Arts  nnd  Das  Bild  des  Kaisers 
von  Willi.  Hauff 

138  Modelle.  Hist.  Roman  von  A.  v. 

Winterfeld 

139  Der  Krieg  um  die  Haube  von 

Stefa  nie  Keyser 

140  Niima  Roumestan  v.  Alphonse 

Daudet 

141  Spatsommer.  Novelle  von  O. 

von  Sydow  und  Engelid,  No- 
velle V.  Balduin  Mollhausen 

142  Bartolomaus  von  Brusehaver 

u.  Musma  Cussalin.  Novellen 
von  L.  Ziemssien 

143  Ein  gemeuchelter  Dichter.  Ko- 

mischer  Roman  von  A.  von 
Winterfeld.  Erste  Halfte 

143  Ein  gemeuchelter  Dichter.  Ko- 

mischer  Roman  von  A.  von 
Winterfeld.  Zweite  Halfte. . 

144  Ein  Wort.  Neuer  Roman  von 

G.  Ebers 

145  Novellen  von  Paul  Heyse 

146  Adam  Homo  in  Versen  v.  Pa- 

ludan-Muller 

147  Ihr  einziger  Bruder  von  W. 

Heimburg, 

148  Ophelia.  Roman  von  H.  von 

Lankenau 

149  Nemesis  v.  Helene  v.  Hiilsen 
1.50  Felicitas.  Histor.  Roman  von 

F.  Dahn 

151  Die  Claudier.  Roman  v.  Ernst 

Eckstein 

152  Eine  Verlorene  von  Leopold 

Kompert 

153  Luginsland.  Roman  von  Otto 

Roquette 

154  Im  Banne  der  Musen  von  W. 

Heimburg 

155  Die  Schwester  v.  L.  Schiicking 

156  Die  Colonie  von  Friedrich  Ger- 

stacker 

157  Deutsche  Liebe.  Roman  v.  M, 

MiiUer 

158  Die  Rose  von  Delhi  von  Fels. 

Erste  Halfte 

158  Die  Rose  von  Delhi  von  Fels. 

Zweite  Halfte 

1.59  Debora.  Roman  von  W.  Muller 

160  Eine  Mutter  v.  Friedrich  Ger- 

stacker 

161  Fried  liofsblume  von  W.  von 

Hillern 

162  Nach  der  ersten  Liebe  von  K. 

Frenzel 

163  Gebannt  u.  erldst  v.  E.  Werner 

164  Uhlenhans.  Roman  von  1 ried. 

Spielhagen 

165  Klytia.  Roman  von  G.  Taylor. 

166  Mayo.  Erzahlung  v.  P.  Lindau 

167  Die  Herrin  von  Ibichstein  von 

F.  Henkel 

168  Die  Saxoborussen  von  Sama- 

row.  Erste  HUlfte • • . 


168  Die  Saxoborussen  von  Sama- 

row.  Zweite  Halfte 20 

169  Serapis.  Roman  v.  G.  Ebers  . 20 

170  Ein  Gottesurtlieil.  Roman  von 

E.  Werner 10 

171  Die  Kreuzfahrer.  Roman  von 

Felix  Dahn 20 

172  Der  Erbe  von  Weidenhof  von 

F.  Pelzeln 20 

173  Die  Reise  nach  dem  Schicksal 

V.  Franzos 10 

174  Villa  Schonow.  Roman  v.  W. 

Raabe 10 

175  DasVermachtniss  v.  Eckstein. 

Erste  Halfte 20 

175  Das  Vermachtniss  v.  Eckstein. 

Zweite  Halfte 20 

176  Herr  und  Frau  Bewer  von  P. 

Lindau 10 


177  Die  Nihilisten  von  Joh.  Scherr  10 

178  Die  Frau  mit  den  Karfunkel- 

steinen  von  E.  Marlitt 

179  Jetta.  Von  George  Taylor 

180  Die  Stieftochter.  Von  J.  Smith 

181  An  der  Heilquelle.  Von  Fried. 

Spielhagen 

182  Was  der  Todtenkopf  erzahit, 

von  Jokai 

183  Der  Zigeunerbaron,  von  Jokai 


184  Himmlische  u.  irdische  Liebe, 

von  Paul  Heyse 

185  Ehre,  Roman  v O.  Schubin . . . 

186  Violanta,  Roman  v.  E.  Eckstein 

187  Nemi,  Erzahlung  von  H.  Wa- 

chenhusen   10 

188  Strandgut,  von  Joh.  v.  Dewall. 

Erste  Halfte 20 

188  Strandgut,  von  Joh.  v.  Dewall. 

Zweite  Halfte 20 

189  Homo  sum,  Roman  von  Georg 

Ebers 20 

190  Eine  Aegyptische  Konigstoch- 

ter,  von  Georg  Ebers.  Erste 
Halfte 20 

190  Eine  Aegyptische  Kdnigstoch- 

ter,  von  Georg  Ebers.  Zweite 
Halfte 20 

191  Sanct  Michael,  von  E.  Werner. 

Erste  Halfte 20 

191  Sanct  Michael,  von  E.  Werner. 

Zweite  Halfte 20 

192  Die  Nilbraut,  von  Georg  Ebers. 

Erste  Halfte 20 

192  Die  Nilbraut,  von  Georg  Ebers. 

Zw^eite  Halfte 20 

193  DieAndere,  von  W.  Heimburg  20 

194  Ein  armes  Madchen,  von  W. 

Heimburg 20 

195  Der  Roman  der  Stiftsdame,  von 

Paul  Heyse 20 

196  Kloster  Wendhusen,  von  W. 

Heimburg 20 

197  Das  Vermachtniss  Kains,  von 

Sacher-Masoch.  Erste  Halfte  20 

197  Das  Vermachtniss  Kains,  von 

Sacher-Masoch. ZweiteHalfte  20 

198  Frau  Venus,  von  Karl  Frenzel  20 


20 

10 

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10 

20 

10 

10 

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20 

20 

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10 

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10 

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10 

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SB  8 BBB 


4 


DIE  DEUTSCHE  LIBRARY. 


191)  Eine  Vienelstunde  Vater,  von 

F.  W.  Hacklander 10 

;:i00  Heimatklang,  von  E.  Werner..  10 

201  Herzenskrisen,  von  W.  Heim- 

bur^ 20 

202  Die  Sch western,  von  G.  Ebers..  20 

203  Der  Egoist,  von  E.  Werner 10 

204  Salvatore,  von  E.  Eckstein....  20 

205  Liunpenmullers  Lieschen,  von 

W.  Heiinburg 20 

206  Das  einsame  Haus,  von  Adolf 

Streckfus 20 

207  Die  verlorene  Handschrift,  von 

G.  Frey  tag.  Erste  Halfte. . . 20 

207  Die  verlorene  Handschrift,  von 

G.  Frey  tag.  Zweite  Halfte. . 20 

208  Das  Eulenhaus,  von  E.  Marlitt  20 

209  Des  Herzens  Golgatha,  von  H. 

Wachenhusen. 20 

210  Aus  dem  Leben  meiner  alten 

Freundin,  von  W.  Heimbnrg  20 

211  Die  Gred,  von  G.  Ebers.  Erste 

Halfte 20 

211  Die  Gred,  Yon  G.  Ebers.  Zweite 

Halfte 20 

212  Trudchens  Heirath,  von  Wilh. 

Heimburg 20 

213  Asbein,  von  Ossip  Schubin 20 

214  Die  Alpenfee,  von  E.  Werner..  20 

215  Nero,  von  E.  Eckstein.  Erste 

Halfte 20 

215  Nero,  von  E.  Eckstein.  Zweite 

Halfte 20 


Ein  schoner  ausgearheiteter  Cafe 
wird  von  George  Munro  fiir  10  cents 


216  Zwei  Seelt  n,  von  R.  Liudau '20 

217  Mandver-  ii.  Kriegsbilder,  von 

Joh.  von  Dewall 10 

218  Lore  von  Tollen,  von  W.  Heim- 

burg  20 

219  Spitzen,  von  P.  Lindau 20 

220  Der  Referenda!-,  von  E.  Eck- 

stein  10 

221  Das  Geiger-Evchen.von  A.Dom  20 

222  Die  Gdtterbui-g,  von  M.  Jokai  20 

223  Der  Kronprinz  und  die  deutsche 

Kaiserkrone,  von  G.  Freytag  10 

224  Nicht  im  Geleise,  von  Ida  Boy- 

Ed 20 

225  Camilla,  von  E.  Eckstein 20 

226  Josua,  eine  Erzahliing  aus  bib- 

lischer  Zeit,  von  G.  Ebers 20 

227  Am  Belt,  von  Gregor  Samarow  20 

228  Henrik  Ibsen’s  Gesarnmelte 

Werue.  Erster  Band 20 

228  Henrik  Ibsen’s  Gesarnmelte 

Werke.  Zweiter  Band 20 

228  Henrik  Ibsen’s  Gesarnmelte 

Werke.  Dritter  Band 20 

228  Henrik  Ibsen’s  Gesarnmelte 

Werke.  Vierter  Band 20 

229  In  geistigerirre,  von  H.  Kohler  20 

230  Flammenzeichen,  v.  E.  Werner  20 

231  Der  Seelsorger,  von  V. Valentin  10 

232  Der  Prasident,vonK.E.Franzos  20 

233  Erlachhof,  Roman  von  Ossib 

Schubin ....  20 


I',  enthaltend  eine  alphahetuche  List, 
alle  Adressen  versendet. 


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and  body,  that  detract  from  appearance  and  happiness,  are  made  the  sub- 
jects of  precise  and  excellent  recipes.  Ladies  are  instructed  how  to  reduce 
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LIBRARY  of  AMERICAN  AUTHORS 


TO  BE  ISSUED  MARCH  28,  1891: 

NO.  30, 

KUTH  THE  OUTCAST. 

BY  MARY  E.  BRYAN. 

Price  25  Cents. 


NO.  PRICE. 

29  HIS  COUNTRY  COUSIN.  By 
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28  EVE,  THE  FACTORY  GIRL. 

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Charlotte  M.  Stanley 25 

26  MANCH.  By  Mrs.  Mary  E.  Bryan.  25 

25  THE  BELLE  OF  SARATOGA. 

By  Lucy  Randall  Comfort ...  25 

24  HAZEL  KIRKE.  By  Marie 


Walsh 25 

23  LOVE  AND  JEALOUSY.  By 
Lucy  Randall  Comfort 25 

22  THE  BRIDE  OF  MONTE- 
CRISTO.  A Sequel  to  “ The 

. Count  of  Monte-Cristo  ” 25 

21  SWORN  TO  SILENCE:  or. 

Aline  Rodney’s  Secret.  By 

Mrs.  Alex.  McVeigh  Miller 25 

20  MURIEL;  or.  Because  op  His 
Love  for  Her.  By  Christine 

Carlton 25 

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Lucy  Randall  Comfort 25 

18  LAUREL  VANE  ;*or,  The  Girls’ 
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McVeigh  Miller 25 

17  VENDETTA;  or,  The  Southern 
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Comfort 25 


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15  A STRUGGLE  FOR  A HEART; 

OR,  Crystabel’s  Fatal  Love. 

By  Laura  Jean  Libbey.  25 

14  ALL  FOR  LOVE  OF  A FAIR 
FACE ; OR,  A Broken  Be- 
trothal. By  Laura  Jean  Lib- 
bey   25 

13  UNCLE  NED’S  WHITE  CHILD. 

By  Mrs.  Mary  E,  Bryan 25 

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Lucy  Randall  Comfort 25 

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ra Jean  Libbey 25 

10  LEONIE  LOCKE;  or,  The  Ro- 
mance OF  A Beautiful  New 
York  Working  - Girl.  By 

Laura  Jean  Libbey 25 

9 SAINTS  AND  SINNERS.  By 

Marie  Walsh 25. 

8 BIADOLIN  RIVERS.  By  Laura 

Jean  Libbey 25 

7 LIZZIE  ADRIANCE.  By  Mar- 
garet Lee 25 


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5 THE  HEIRESS  OF  CAMERON 
HALL.  By  Laura  Jean  Libbey  25 
4 DAISY  BROOKS.  By  Laura 


Jean  Libbey 25 

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Adna  H.  Lightner 25 

2 THE  ROCK  OR  THE  RYE. 

(Comic).  By  T.  C.  DeLeon ...  25 
1 MY  OWN  SIN.  By  Mrs.  Mary 
E.  Bryan . . 25 


16  LITTLE  ROSEBUD’S  LOVERS; 

OR,  A Cruel  Revenge.  By 
Laura  Jean  Libbey 25 

Others  will  follow  at  short  intervals. 


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ive; or,  The  Strategy  of  a 
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17  Old  Sleuth  in  Harness  Again. . . 10c 

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20  The  Fastest  Boy  in  New  York . . 10c 

21  Black  Raven,  the  Georgia  De- 

tective  10c 

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New  York 10c 

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26  The  Smugglers  of  NewYork  Bay  10c 

27  Manfred,  the  Magic  Trick  De- 

tective  10c 

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47  The  Irish  Detective 10c 

48  Down  in  a Coal  Mine 10c 

49  Faithful  Mike,  the  Irish  Hero..  10c 

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Link  by  Idnk 10c 

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I 

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arts  and  mysteries  of  personal  decoration,  and  for  increasing  the  natural 
graces  of  form  and  expression.  All  the  little  affections  of  the  skin,  hair,  eyes 
and  body,  that  detract  from  appearance  and  happiness,  are  made  the  sub- 
jects  of  precise  and  excellent  recipes.  Ladies  are  instructed  how  to  reduce 
their  weight  without  injury  to  healtli  and  without  producing  pallor  and  weak- 
ness. Nothing  necessary  to  a complete  toilet  book  of  recipes  and  valuable 
advice  and  information  has  been  overlooked  in  the  compilation  of  this  volume. 

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of  condolence  and  duty,  widows’  and  widowers’  letters,  love  letters  for  all 
occasions,  proposals  of  marriage,  letters  between  betrothed  lovers,  letters  of 
.-.a  young  girl  to  her  sweetheart,  correspondence  relating  to  household  man- 
'V..  tt,  letters  accompanying  gifts,  etc.  Every  form  of  letter  used  in  affairs 
ot^^.:  L >*t-,will  be  found  in  this  little  book.  It  contains  simple  and  full  di- 
rection^ch  >;^rTting  a good  letter  on  all  occasions.  The  latest  forms  used  in 
the  best  society  have  been  carefully  followed.  It  is  an  excellent  manual  of 
reference  for  all  forms  of  engraved  cards  and  invitations 

For  sale  by  all  newsdealers,  or  sent  by  mail  to  any  address,  postage  paid, 
on  receipt  of  price,  25  cents,  by  the  publisher.  Address 

GEORGE  MUNRO,  Munro’s  Publishing  House, 

17  to  27  Vandewater  Street,  New  V oi% 


(P.O.  Box  3751.) 


